


The Lion and the Wolf

by JPKenwood



Series: Dominus [3]
Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF, Fantasy historical, Original Work
Genre: Ancient Dacia, Ancient Rome, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Captive, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, Imperial Rome, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/F Implied, M/M, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Power Dynamics, Treachery, Violence, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9501194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPKenwood/pseuds/JPKenwood
Summary: The Roman general, Gaius Fabius Rufus, acquires a new sex slave - a feisty Dacian prince named Allerix. A historical fantasy saga with sex, plot twists, angst, humor, love, and intrigue. While nearly all details are historically accurate and the story is tied to major historical events and prevailing cultural attitudes during the reign of Emperor Trajan (AD 98-117), the tale is entirely fictional and the dialogue is deliberately modern in flavor. This is the third installment of a four part saga.For more information about this story, the characters, preview snippets and more, check out theDominusblog at http://jpkenwood.com© Copyright 2017 and 2018 All rights reserved. JP KenwoodThe funny, lusty, and angst-filled saga of Gaius and Allerix continues inThe Lion and the Wolf. These are not stand alone stories but are part of a series. The Lion and the Wolf containsMAJOR SPOILERSfor Games of Rome and Dominus. :)





	1. Chapter 1

**_107 AD, Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome_ **

 

Allerix scratched his matted beard and rubbed his eyes before squinting up at the small window for the hundredth time. By the faint light of the autumn sunset he tallied the individual squared stones framing the narrow window, each block a different shade of brownish-grey.

“Four, five, six…”

Soon it would be dark, and every foul-smelling part of him ached. Blisters and cuts covered his hands and feet; purplish-yellow bruises dotted his alabaster arms and thighs. And except for the random bucket of cold water thrown over his head, he hadn’t washed properly since that night he’d shared a luxurious bath with Dominus.

With Gaius.

“Seven, eight.”

When he’d been a little boy back in Dacia, Alle had counted all sorts of odd things. The number of insects floating across a pond, or the colorful racks of shields hanging on the walls of King Decebalus’ audience hall. Counting had become a mindless habit to soothe his boredom and loneliness. Now counting these meaningless little stones was Allerix’s last link to sanity.

His people had lost everything. Dacia was gone.

Not the land. Not the groves of trees and the wide rivers and the fertile green meadows. Not the wolves in the forests or the mines in the mountains belching gold and silver. All those remained, but his country’s natural bounty and her beauty now belonged to her enemy.

To Rome.

And so did Prince Allerix, son of Thiamarkos—a filthy, exhausted slave in solitary confinement within an underground maze.

Was this his fate?

To be forsaken by his gods _and_ his captor?

For over two months he’d been confined to this dark cell whenever he wasn’t slogging through another day of backbreaking chores. No more banter with Max, Bryaxis, and Simon over hot tasty meals. No company. No laughter. No wine.

Two months without Gaius, and his generous mouth, and his wicked dimpled smile that had snuck its insidious way into Alle’s heart.

But the horrific nightmares of his capture at the hands of those sadistic soldiers were back. As was the shackle around his ankle attached to a chain linked to an iron ring bolted to the wooden floor.

“Ten, eleven, twelve…”

He’d expected his Roman master to flog his back raw for that idiotic dagger stunt, not abandon him. He’d expected the consequences to be painful and humiliating, but quick.

And yet his punishment _had_ been quick. Executed with emotionless precision.

Two moons past, Max had dragged Allerix to the Roman’s office. There’d been no flogger, no beating. Gaius simply unclasped the chain dangling from Alle’s neck and dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. No words. No explanation. Only a hard and distant glare in his golden-amber eyes dark with disillusion.

Allerix had seen that disgust before—in his father’s weathered brown eyes after the old man had discovered Alle’s true unnatural nature.

He’d disappointed them both and lost their trust.

“Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one…”

Alle touched his throat now free of the delicate weight of the lion pendant. He was no longer the general’s favorite concubine. Prince Allerix the Foolhardy Knife Thief had been demoted and cast into the colony of manual laborers who roosted like bats in the hollows of the slave barracks beneath the Roman’s urban estate.

With a sharp squeak, a rodent squeezed through a crack in the plank floor and hugged the wall as it scampered towards the opposite corner of Alle’s cell. The rat wasn’t a sweet little mouse like Nic’s pet, Achilles. Cute and fluffy and smart. This slithering beast had splotchy patches of oily fur and a pale, hairless tail.

Allerix scooted away from the intruder and shut his eyes.

“I should just slice the gorgeous bastard’s throat and be done with it,” he mumbled to no one, his words trailing off in a sigh.

Would it even matter? Would he earn immortality for killing the red-haired butcher, the feared Lion of the Lucky Fourth? Would great Zalmoxis, supreme god of the Dacians, grant Allerix eternal glory in the afterlife for committing a convenient murder of Rome’s second-in-command?

Was that the only option left?

“Twenty-two!”

Alle’s cry faded into the cool November evening. The overbearing silence returned until a guard down the hall hollered, “Quiet down, slave!”

“Twenty-fucking-two,” Alle spat in a whisper.

A stray beam of light pierced the shadows, racing past the twenty-two stones framing the window. The small opening allowed light and air into the room, but it was too high up on the wall for Allerix to see what was happening outside his cell.

Information so close, but out of reach.

He smiled at the memory of that sunny bedroom he’d enjoyed down at the villa stable house with its lumpy, dusty mattress and its window looking out over the rolling waves of their endless, sapphire sea. Far away from this dim hole sealed shut by impenetrable door. A dreary, colorless box designed to keep him out of sight when he wasn’t shoveling horseshit, or hauling buckets of slimy sludge from the cisterns, or cleaning out the guards’ vile latrines.

Opening his eyes, Alle blew out a breath and pushed himself up off the ratty blanket.

“One, two… shit.”

He didn’t hear it until he felt it.

The rumble was low and subtle before it barreled to a roar as the floor rose and fell in terrifying, unearthly waves. Alle dug his fingers into the gaps between the floorboards, but the quaking planks rolled violently beneath him. The old metal chamber pot clattered across the room and crashed against the wall, staining the grey stones with fat splashes of urine. When Allerix tried to stand, he lost his balance, landing hard on his sore knees. The entire structure groaned and squealed as ceiling beams and stair treads and clay floor tiles were pushed together and pulled apart and snapped in half.

And then it was over. As if it had never happened.

Except for the piss dripping down the wall.

And the distant wails of hysterical women and children.

Allerix startled when the door burst open.

His tall silhouette filled the frame, a shadowy key dangling from a cord wrapped around his wrist. When he crossed the threshold, muted rays from the sunset lit his clean-shaven face in a mask of sheer bronze.

“Greetings, Dacian.”

“By gods, Bryaxis!”

Bry chuckled. “Did you miss me? Listen, there’s something bizarre you need to see,” he sputtered as he crouched to unlock the shackle.

“Am I getting out of here?”

“Temporarily. Perhaps longer if you’d stop nicking knives.”

“What just happened?” Allerix tapped the floor.

“The ground shaking? That’s only a tremor. The gods of their Underworld are restless shitheads who toss and turn and cause the city to shake. There’s some damage but there’s no need for alarm. Now what’s happening in the skies above the Emperor’s palace is fucking abnormal.”

When the lock clicked open, the shackle around Alle’s ankle released and fell apart. Rising to his feet, Bry tossed down the spare cloak draped over his shoulder and offered his hand. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Allerix asked, straightening his tattered brown laborers’ tunic before wrapping the faded tan cloak around his shoulders.

“We’re climbing up to the large terrace on the western wing of Fabius’s spooky house.” Bryaxis wandered about the cell, cautiously touching the dirty walls with the tip of his finger. “I have to admit I’m pleased to see you’re still alive, lad. Max had said you’d been assigned new duties.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Bryaxis. To see anyone.” When Allerix raked his fingers through his tangled black hair, specks of grimy dust fluttered to the floor. “I’d thought I’d been forgotten.”

“Fabius doesn’t forget, Dacian.”

“But why are we going to the terrace? Why am _I_ going up there?”

“And you’re still an inquisitive, peculiar mongrel, aren’t you? Listen, Fabius ordered me to bring you to him, all right? Why? I don’t know. But while you’ve been lounging about down here in these cozy slave barracks, our redheaded prick promoted me to senior secretary because Simon keeps cocking up the expense accounts. Fabius seems to trust me, the poor pissed idiot.”

“He called for me? He said _my_ name?”

“You have been summoned by the great Mars himself, god of unapologetic arrogance, and I am your humble, impotent escort to this evening’s portent party.”

When Bry finished his exaggerated bow, he strode out the door. After relighting the terracotta lamp cupped in his hand with the flame of a torch affixed to the wall, Bryaxis sauntered into the vaulted, windowless corridor, shouting over his shoulder, “Move those hairy legs and follow me! Perhaps a Dacian can decipher this sorcery.”

Alle followed Bryaxis through a labyrinth of narrow hallways connecting row after row of identical drab cells in the slave quarters. They dodged around debris and broken beams until Bry spotted the undamaged staircase he’d used earlier. The next level hadn’t suffered much destruction and access to the top was made easy by a wide intact stairway constructed of stone. After they’d reached the marble terrace gilded by the raking light of the amber and crimson sunset, Alle stopped and inhaled the fresh air; light fragrances of herbs and dried leaves filled him with renewed energy and hope. When he tried to take another step forward, Bryaxis pressed his forearm against Allerix’s chest.

“Cover your head before we go any farther. This peculiarity is a sacred event,” Bry ordered before pulling his own mantle up into hood.

The two joined the household staff and slaves huddled together in hushed conversations near the far end of the expansive platform. Close to the front of the group stood Max and Simon and the veteran, Varius. All of their heads were covered as they looked towards the waning but stubborn sunset. In the distance loomed the gleaming monstrous palace that Alle had first seen from the wagon when he’d arrived.

The demon king’s fortress.

Mesmerized by the illusion of palace’s proximity, Allerix traced his forefinger over the contours of the multi-storied building when his fantasies of vengeance were interrupted.

“Oh Almighty Jove!”

The incantation echoed through the valley, the words bouncing off the tiled rooftops below.

“Oh Jupiter, the Best and the Greatest! Oh divine sender of fortuitous flocks!”

At the front of the terrace by an ornate stone balustrade stood two men of roughly equal height swathed in folds of cloth, the hems of their voluminous white costumes pulled over their heads. The man on the right held up a staff with a curved end, his other hand crisscrossing through the brisk air in slow, deliberate motions.

He chanted words Allerix didn’t understand.

And wiggled his silly stick.

“What is he doing?” he asked Bryaxis too loudly.

Alle didn’t recognize the slave woman standing in front of him who turned around and shot him a scolding glare as she pushed her slender fingers against her frown.

“Look,” Bry whispered as he pointed to the sky above the palace. “Fortuitous flock, my sorry gelded barbarian arse. Those birds are angry, and the Druids say birds never lie.”

A frenzied swarm of thousands of black birds swirled above the palace roof, soaring to the heavens in the shape of a spear before diving back down at an unnatural speed. The moment before they smashed into the building, the creatures flew sideways and dispersed across the orange sky. And then, without warning, the mad birds returned to formation, repeating their bizarre, aggressive choreography over and over.

“The starlings visit the city once or twice every few autumns,” Bryaxis mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ve witnessed their strange dances before but I’ve never seen them fly together like an irate feathered arrow. What do you make of it?”

Allerix shrugged off the burden of explaining the birds’ natural instincts. “I can’t read portents.”

“Or you won’t.” Bry arched a brow. “That chap with the crooked staff is performing the auspices to record the birds’ flying patterns. Their ruthless storm god, Jupiter, sends messages to them through birds, lightening, and thunder—both good and bad portents. The priest’s job is to read the signs and relay the god’s will to the people. At least that’s how Lucius explained these rituals to me.”

After they finished another verse of baffling archaic incantations, the two Romans bowed towards the setting sun and turned their backs to the starlings spiraling above the darkening horizon.

When he lifted his ivory hood, his chestnut curls spilled down over his shoulders.

A gasp escaped Alle’s lips. He’d forgotten how easily just the sight of the man took his breath away.

But Gaius looked older. Unhappy. Lines of worry troubled his forehead and framed his leonine eyes.

Alle tried to remain still—he tried not to care—but his body and his heart ached to be closer. He wove his way through the crowd with Bryaxis on his heels, apologizing every time he bumped into someone. Once they were near enough to hear clearly, Alle dropped to his knees and lowered his head.

He had to get out of that hive of slave cells.

_Act submissive._

_Be contrite._

Gaius’s silken voice cut through the somber silence. “How do you interpret the signs, my dear Pliny? Is Jove as fucking displeased as those fowl appear to be?”

The same man with the absurd sun hat who’d visited the Roman’s villa by the sea wiped his brow and said, “I’ve never seen those patterns before, Commander Fabius. Most unusual. I will consult with the senior augurs and share their interpretations with you over dinner tomorrow night. You—you won’t call off your party, will you?”

“Over an unfortunate splatter of bird shit?” Gaius laughed, pulling Pliny into an embrace and pinching his cheek. “You’re looking forward to my little feast, aren’t you, my old friend? Not to worry. I have no intention of cancelling the dinner party. I’m delighted you’ve arranged a poetry reading before the music and dancers. 

“Oh, that’s marvelous news, Gaius. Yes, yes—he’s a talented reciter.”

“And _you_ can explain these bizarre bird portents while we dine on succulent stuffed sparrows. My most talented cook is back in Rome. She’ll spoil us rotten with an exquisite array of her scrumptious courses.” 

Allerix’s eyes widened; he focused on an image of a grape leaf in the mosaic designs covering the terrace floor.

_Euphronia?_

He glanced up at Bryaxis who tossed him a quick nod and a thankful grin. Alle returned the gesture and pulled his hood down over his forehead until he eyes were hidden in its shadow. Euphronia had always seemed fond of him. She’d called him delightful and polite, hadn’t she? Perhaps Euphronia could convince the Roman to forgive Allerix.

It wasn’t much of a fucking plan.

Alle peered through gaps between the small crowd’s forest of legs. When Gaius extended both arms out to the sides, two servants rushed over and unwound the heavy ivory cloth wrapped around his body. Underneath, the Roman wore a short belted tunic, fitted tight enough for Alle to make out the curves of his broad back and fit bum through the red fabric. And then there were those sexy fur-topped sandals with their leather straps hugging Gaius’s defined muscular calves.

Allerix pushed away the inconvenient rush of lust.

“I’m relieved to hear you won’t cancel your dinner party because of this portent, Gaius.” Pliny stepped back and readjusted his cumbersome costume. “And your invitation was most generous, but I’ve decided to not bring my wife along.”

Chuckling, Gaius grasped Pliny by both shoulders.

Gods, those fucking dimples.

“Sensible man. I look forward to your unfettered company, Pliny.”

As Pliny turned to regroup with his attendants waiting off to the side under the terrace’s portico, Gaius added, “Our dear Publius Cornelius Tacitus has promised he’ll attend if his health permits. Perhaps our esteemed _magister_ has had an opportunity to read your work. Perhaps while we sip Sabine wine, Tacitus will share his assessment of your latest scribbling with all of us, yes?”

“Oh, gods.” Pliny shook himself from his stupor and muttered, “Yes, perhaps.”

“Don’t look so terrified, Pliny. I guarantee everyone in attendance at _my_ dinner bash will survive the evening. Farewell and safe travels home to the Esquiline, my dear Senator.”

“Farewell and good fortune, Commander Fabius,” Pliny mumbled before shuffling over to his guards.

When Gaius turned in his direction, Allerix lowered his chin but managed to sneak a peek here and there.

“Maximus! Bryaxis!”

“Stay here.” Bry hurried over to stand at Max’s side and replied with a bow, “Yes, Commander.”

“How severe is the damage to slave quarters? Any property lost?”

“There were no casualties, sir,” Max reported. “And the damage to the building isn’t severe.”

Gaius exhaled and crossed his arms. The tops of his shoulders and his copper curls were backlit by the final breaths of the dying sunset.

“Thank merciful Fortuna. Maximus, have those uninjured begin the structural repairs in the morning. In the meantime, relocate the workers to the stables. Be sure all injuries are treated and remind everyone there may be more tremors.”

“Yes, sir,” Max replied and headed towards the slave barracks.

“Caledonian.”

Bryaxis lifted his gaze.

“You will prepare and manage the Ganymedes who’ll be serving wine at my dinner party tomorrow night. Not a drop had better be spilt, so be damn sure Simon is ready for the responsibility. And you’ll need to recruit at least one more suitable cupbearer. That reminds me—where’s my naughty Dacian bandit?”

“He’s over there, sir. No significant wounds as far as I can tell.”

The lingering crowd parted to create a path as Gaius marched towards him. The Roman squatted and pushed back Alle’s hood.

He said nothing for a long while, his unblinking hypnotic eyes filled not with the anger or disappointment Allerix had expected but instead with warmth and relief. As he rubbed a section of Alle’s dirty beard between his strong fingers, his thin lips relaxed and rewarded Alle with a bright grin.

“Greetings, _căţel_. Gods you’re filthy—and far too furry—but thank the gods you’re unhurt. Walk with me.”

Gaius waved off his guards before charging towards the covered portico. After Bry nodded permission, Allerix jogged to catch up with him. When he reached the covered path, Gaius hurried down the corridor, ignoring the exquisite mythological scenes painted on the portico wall, stomping like a bull over the stunning polychrome mosaic floors. Alle struggled to keep pace but managed to stay a stride or two behind his master.

Neither spoke until Gaius barked, “Two months has passed since your foolish mistake, Alle.”

“May I ask a question, Dominus?”

“Yes, yes…” Gaius waved his hand but didn’t slow down. “Ask your bloody question.”

“Are my new duties and dismal living quarters punishment for stealing my dagger?”

Gaius stopped and turned to face him. Allerix couldn’t read the Roman’s blank expression but he heard every single, calm word.

“It’s not punishment, merely a reminder. I had you temporarily reassigned and relocated to remind myself that you were able to steal the dagger from Varius because I’d been sloppy. And, as we both know all too well, carelessness can be lethal—on and off the battlefield. I can’t afford to be careless, Alle. Not with everything that’s at stake now. These past two months without your sublime visage allowed me the time I needed to clear my thoughts and determine what I must fucking do.”

Alle took the dangling bait. “And what have you decided, sir?”

“Many, many things. For a start, I’ve decided what I will not do.”

Alle opened his mouth to respond with a clever quip, but instead lowered his head and waited.

_Be submissive._

“I’ve decided that I won’t kill you.”

Bemused, Allerix finally mumbled his sincerest, “Thank you, Dominus.”

“You are most welcome. Now, as to why I’ve called you up from the depths of the slave tunnels…” Gaius walked backwards with his arms outstretched, his reserved behavior turning into an odd mixture of mockery and despair. Were his eyes welling up with tears?

“I have all this, my darling _căţel_. A posh mansion haunted by the ghosts of my discontent ancestors, a deceitful family I despise, the useless adoration of the feckless mob, the feigned loyalty of my fickle troops, a miraculous heir waiting to be born who may or may not survive the horrors of birth…”

Gaius backed up a few more steps and raised the pitch of his cracking voice. “I have authority! I have wealth! I have supreme status!”

Allerix unclasped his hands from behind his back and looked up, now more confused and a touch alarmed.

“And yet, with all these blessings of Fortuna, I’ve not found a single person in this entire shithole of a city who can beat me at Tabula. Not one, except for you.”

When Gaius rushed towards him, Alle detected the stench of stale wine on his breath. The Roman cupped his face and declared, “I demand a rematch.”

“A rematch, Dominus?”

“Yes, tonight.” Gaius didn’t bother to turn when he shouted, “Bryaxis, bring more of Bacchus’ nectar!”

Bry ran across the terrace and handed a cup to the Roman. Gaius enjoyed a long gulp before wiping his mouth with his forearm. “Take our Dacian to the baths, shave his face, and wash off the muck. After he’s clean, find him more attractive attire and escort him to my master chamber. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I do hope you’re excited for another game, _căţel_. I shall set up the board in anticipation of our second thrilling contest. I wonder what the prize should be this time?”

Gaius sauntered over to a statue of a lithe Apollo standing on a pedestal between the columns. After kissing the young god’s marble knuckles, Gaius wiggled his figures and mumbled, “Go on, then. Farewell! Toot-a-loo with you!”

Bry grabbed Allerix’s arm and hauled him down the corridor towards the one of the many baths in the Roman’s vast hilltop mansion. When they were out of sight and earshot, Alle jerked against his grasp and pulled them both to a halt.

“He’s acting strange. What’s wrong with him?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“No, I can’t.” Alle shoved Bry hard enough to slam the tall Caledonian into the wall. “Tell me what’s happened to him!”

“Besides drinking too much wine for most hours of every day? Some might consider his affliction tragic, I imagine. Lucius would have been heartbroken. I, however, find this recent development bloody hysterical.”

“Affliction?” Allerix grabbed Bryaxis wrist and twisted until he winced. “How long has he been ill?”

“Since the last moon.”

“Has he had a fit?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he thrash about like a fish on shore?”

“What? No, nothing like that.”

After he’d wriggled out of Alle’s hold and made a show of straightening and smoothing his tunic, Bry squared his shoulders and flashed a mock frown. “Our poor Commander Fabius has lost his fucking mind, Dacian. Max says it’s the soldiers’ disease. Ask him. Shit, ask Simon. He’s seen it too. All sense and sanity are gone. Toot-a-loo.”

~~~~~

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome**

 

After Allerix moved one of his circular gaming pieces nine spaces, he lifted is chin towards the decorated ceiling and prayed silently to whichever gods would listen. He beseeched Zalmoxis and his mother’s forest spirits and even the Roman’s goddess of luck, begging them all to grant him victory in this unexpected Tabula rematch. When his empty stomach grumbled to remind him he hadn’t eaten anything since that morning’s ration of stale bread and tasteless porridge, he sighed and opened his eyes

The master chamber seemed smaller than he remembered.

And much less tidy.

To Alle’s left stood the oversized bed covered in layers of plush blankets. A silver pitcher and three empty cups resting on their sides crowded the cluttered bedside table. A few feet away sat the Roman’s personal library of scrolls shoved haphazardly into canisters on shelves in a cupboard. Beyond was the wall decorated with frescoes of flying Cupids and bare-breasted Amazons.

And that exact spot against that wall where Gaius had fucked him to ecstatic release two months past. Where he’d tossed Alle’s fake Celtic slave collar and its fugitive tag to the floor.

Where, as if there’d been a choice, Alle surrendered his mouth and his arse to his master’s generous demands.

On Allerix’s right stood a majestic bronze candelabrum casting shadows onto the fabrics hung between marble columns, heavy woolen curtains designed to keep out chilly autumn breezes. The drapes now obscured the view to the balcony where they’d dined together naked that night. Curled up like lovers on an elegant couch.

The night when, of his own free will, Allerix gave too much of his heart to his enchanting captor.

Shit.

Every damn thing in this room brought back memories of that unexpected episode in their unfinished story.

“Your turn, _căţel_.” Gaius opened his fist and offered Alle the dice, two incised ivory cubes warmed from his touch.

Unlike their first game down at the villa, Allerix sat tall on a comfortable cushioned chair. Perched on a similar chair across the stone table, Gaius scratched his late-day copper scruff as he studied the board. Prior to the start of their game, he’d had them each write down their desired prize for a victory. Two squares of folded papyrus now rested by their elbows on the polished alabaster surface.

What did the Roman want for his reward? And if Alle won, would Gaius grant his bold request?

Shit, he had to win.

Without warning, something soft with a cool, damp protrusion rubbed back and forth against Alle’s bare calf. A blur of tan fur, black spots, and a long swishing tail slipped under the table and out of view.

“What is that?” Allerix exclaimed, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Um, sir?”

A large cat jumped silently into Gaius’s lap and sat motionless like a speckled sphinx, its ears perked and its slowly blinking eyes regarding Alle with mild disdain. The Roman stroked the animal’s purring head and replied, “Not what, lad. Who. This is Pyramus, my feline associate. Don’t worry… this provincial beauty rarely attacks my friends. Only strangers.”

Gaius nuzzled his prominent patrician nose against the cat’s serpentine neck and cooed, “But Prince Allerix isn’t a stranger, is he, Pyramus? No, he’s not. Who’s the sweetest pussy in the entire empire? Pyramus is, isn’t he?”

Shaking his head in astonishment, Alle suppressed a snicker. Gods, could this man be any more contradictory? He had a fucking pet cat?

“Where did you get… what’s its name again?”

“Pyramus is not an it—he’s a boy. I adopted him back when I was stationed in North Africa. The poor puss was just a lost runt who’d found his way to the threshold of my headquarters… unwanted, underfed and close to death. A bit like Maximus had been when I’d rescued him, now that I think about it. Against all reason and wisdom, I took care of the filthy kitten—cleaned him up, brushed his ratty coat, fed him little bites of meat, allowed him to curl up with me for warmth at night—and this darling boy has been my loyal companion ever since. You’re an old man now, aren’t you, Pyramus?”

Gaius cupped the cat’s chin and kissed the tip of its triangular brown nose.

“Why did you name him Pyramus?”

Gaius laughed as he gently lifted the enormous cat to place him down on the floor. “You’ve never heard the story of Pyramus and Thisbe?”

“No, sir.”

“How unfortunate. Pyramus is the hero of a tragic old Greek tale. According to the most popular telling of the story, Pyramus’ parents forbid him to cavort with a local girl named Thisbe, the daughter of their neighbors. Yet, despite being separated from each other by the thick party wall between their two homes, the two young lovers whispered their devotions and exchanged secrets notes of affection through a crack in the stones.”

“What happened to Pyramus?”

“He took his own life, as heartbroken heroes often do. You need to read more poetry, my dear Alle. Now throw the damn dice, won’t you? It’s your bloody turn, and the hour is late.”

After he studied the locations of all the gaming pieces on the Tabula board, Allerix picked up the cream-colored cubes and tossed them across the painted wood.

“Five. A lucky number,” Gaius conceded with a smirk as Pyramus flicked his haughty tail one last time and scurried off into the shadows.

Allerix smiled back. That fortunate roll of the dice had given him the advantage. Just one more turn and he could win this game.

“Five is Pythagoras’ perfection, right?”

“Very good. Yes, five represents the balance between male and female forces. And the numerical sign of our beloved wicked Dionysus, giver of wine, fertility and reforged identities.”

Gaius inhaled another swallow of grape. His tapered eyes glimmered bright and predatory. Perfectly normal. No trace of any madness.

Bryaxis must have been mistaken.

Melodramatic eunuch.

“Since we’re discussing signs, what did you make of those birds flying above the palace, Alle?”

Alle moved one of his gaming tokens five places and cleared his throat. “Did you see it, sir?”

“Explain.” Resting his elbows on the table, Gaius folded his hands under his chin and narrowed his stare.

“A hawk forced the flock to panic. Their flying patterns may have been unusual but only because the creatures were dancing for their survival.”

“You have sharp eyes.” Raising his eyebrow, Gaius chuckled. “Yes, I spotted the hawk—and the falcon that…”

“There was a falcon as well?” Allerix interjected.

“Didn’t you notice it? The hawk captured a starling but dropped the dead bird. The smaller raptor swooped in and made off with the hawk’s kill. I fear our dear Pliny was too distracted with performing the proper ritual and completely missed Jove’s ominous portent.”

“What does it mean, sir?”

Gaius raised his palms and laughed. “I’m no augur, but this divine message seems rather obvious.”

“And? Sir?”

“Civil war.” Gaius picked up the dice and threw them. “Not surprising given that we Romans have a suicidal penchant for killing each other at the most fucking inopportune times. Here, enjoy some wine.”

After he’d accepted the silver cup, Allerix blew out a breath and savored a slow, satisfying sip. Gods, he’d missed the smooth, rich taste of of the Roman’s wine.

“When do you think this civil war will start?”

“Only the heartless gods know.” Gaius shrugged. “But I doubt anything will come to pass until after Emperor Trajan’s next grand campaign. Rome will be occupied with a more immediate and more profitable blood bath before we turn our swords on each other.”

Alle glanced at the closed door before lowering his voice. “May I share a secret with you, Dominus?”

“Please do. Secrets only matter if you share them.”

“There are whispers that you’ve gone mad, sir.”

“Who told you that?”

Allerix lied. “I overheard rumors down in your underground prison.”

“Did you?” Gaius rubbed his hands together and slid his token eleven places. “Oh look—I’ve earned a second throw.”

“But you’re not insane, are you?” Alle asked after clearing his throat.

“Perhaps I am. Aren’t we all afflicted with something or other?” With a wink, Gaius snatched up the dice and threw a twelve. “Can I share a secret with you, Alle?”

Alle’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir.”

“For the past moon or so I’ve been exaggerating a few idiosyncratic manners just an iota or two.” Gaius pressed his forefinger against his thumb pad and grinned.

Those seductive dimples again.

Chuckling, Allerix shook his head. Would he ever understand this unpredictable man?

“Why, sir?”

“It’s quite simple, pet. My crowded household tends to avoid me if they believe I’ve lost my mind. I’ve craved some fucking peace and quiet without the usual constant interruptions to finish another section of my opus magnum.”

When Alle didn’t respond, Gaius asked in a more aggravated tone, “Do you remember my history of the wars that I’d mentioned down at the villa?”

“I remember. Did you finish writing your book, Dominus?”

“Sadly, no. I’ve spent most of my time wrestling unsuccessfully with every lousy word and turn of phrase. Clio can be a wretched, selfish bitch.”

“Clio? Is she one of your girl pets?”

Gaius laughed so hard he had to wipe away a tear. “Clio is the Muse of history, Alle. I fear your impressive education lacks a few important lessons.”

Allerix gripped the edge of the table and swallowed the sudden surge of anger burning the back of his throat. “Many lessons were missed because my schooling was interrupted, sir. When your troops invaded our homeland, I was forced to trade my stylus for a sword.”

“Yes, well that was inevitable given your dead king’s suicidal audacity, but defeat is certainly no reason to stop learning. I’ve hired a tutor to further Simon’s education. Let’s have you join him, yes? One can never know enough Greek. Or, in Simon’s case, mathematics.”

“I’d relish any opportunity to get out of that dark, dirty cell.”

Gaius studied him quietly for a few moments and asked, “Tell me—have you been mistreated by the guards down in the slave tunnels?”

“They haven’t hit me, if that’s what you’re asking, but the isolation has been painful. There were nights when I’d thought I had gone mad.” After Allerix tapped his skull he held out his palms. “And I have a few bruises and these callused fingers riddled with cuts.”

Gaius gently held Alle’s hands and caressed them. “You now have the hardened hands of a soldier, my dear Prince. These honorable badges of manual labor only serve to enhance your allure. And the close shave has helped as well. I can finally see your face again.”

With an exasperated snort, Allerix glanced down at his crisp blue tunic embroidered with yellow and white stitching along the hems. “Thank you for letting me out of your dungeon, and for the bath and these clean clothes, sir. And also the…”

A knock on the chamber door interrupted Allerix’s garble of gratitude.

“Enter!”

She waddled into the room, savory scents rising from the cloth-covered mound of food piled on the silver tray in her hands. “Greetings, Commander.”

Gaius clapped his hands and roared, “Euphronia! My stomach adores you. And your timing is, as always, impeccable. This lad’s hungry belly is growling at me from across the table. You do remember our knife-pinching Dacian sprog?”

“Of course I do, sir. Greetings, my dear boy.”

She looked exactly the same. Not a day older, however old she was. Same orange hair, same warm eyes, same bright, friendly grin.

“Greetings, Euphronia,” Alle said as he rose to his feet and bowed.

“Be a dear, Alle, and move that wooden table over here. This tray’s heavy. I’ve brought fresh batches of two of your favorites, Commander.”

“Perfect. Favorites to share with my favorite. And I’m certain our Dacian has grown weary of savorless slop.”

After Euphronia had set the tray down, Gaius leaned over and lifted the cloth cover. He inhaled and said, “Ah, pastries filled with herb cheese and bites of roasted duck. Would you care for the first taste, _căţel_?”

Allerix exhaled. Thank all the gods she hadn’t cooked stuffed mice.

Nodding while trying not to drool, he sat back down in his chair and Gaius offered him the napkin filled with Euphronia’s divine treats. He groaned with pleasure as he scoffed down one bite after another, stealing glimpses of Gaius’s satisfied smile.

“You may leave, Euphronia.”

After the door closed behind her, Gaius wrapped his fingers around Alle’s wrist and said softly, “I’ve missed you, Allerix.”

“I’ve missed real food.” Alle jested before shoving another morsel into his mouth. “Dominus.”

“So it seems.” Gaius reached across the table and lightly brushed away a speck of food from the corner of Alle’s lower lip before peeking down at the board. “Bloody blessed Fortuna! Look at that. It appears I’ve won the game.”

“What?” Allerix mumbled between chews before swallowing. When he noticed the positions of the gaming pieces, his spirits sank.

“Congratulations, sir. The gods are with you.”

“For tonight, perhaps. But before we reveal my prize, let’s see what you wrote down, shall we?” Gaius snatched the note by Alle’s elbow and unfolded the papyrus as he held it up closer to the lamp.

_“I want to win another chance to earn your trust, Dominus.”_

Gaius glanced over at Alle before reading the note again. With a sweet sigh, he refolded the papyrus and gently placed it on the table before crossing his arms.

“This is a worthy petition, my dear Alle. You may get your reward after all. Go on. Open mine.”

Allerix read the words aloud: _“I will win your companionship for a trip to the Praetorians’ Camp.”_

What new game was this?

“It’s a simple request, no? Just a quick journey to the headquarters of the imperial bodyguard.”

“Why do you want _me_ to go with you to their camp, Dominus?”

“To be honest, I don’t want to step foot inside their blasted camp. I can barely stomach any time in the company of those overpaid conniving fuckers. But if I must go then I want you with me because only _you_ can identify your foolish, blue-eyed comrade among the Dacian captives housed there.”

Once the words had sunken into his head, Allerix’s heart jumped into his constricted throat. He’d hoped the Roman had forgotten about Brasus.

_“Fabius doesn’t forget, Dacian.”_

Allerix gnawed on his thumbnail to prevent a curse from slipping off his tongue.

But now there was hope—or a tiny sliver of something that would have never seemed hopeful in his former life. If he cooperated and betrayed his boyhood idol, he might regain the Roman general’s trust. And, in doing so, perhaps gain access to their king.

Shit, Brasus was already as good as dead anyway.

“Why do you believe he’s there, sir?”

Gaius refilled his cup and said, “I’ve located a Dacian named Brassius listed in their camp’s prison records. It’s not exactly the name you’d mentioned, but he just might be your fellow. Mistakes in the ledgers are common enough. I need you to confirm whether or not this prisoner is your friend.”

“Why?”

Gaius let out an irritated laugh but only wagged his finger. “Don’t you also remember that I’d promised you a respectable farewell with your fellatio friend? I intend to keep that promise. Fulfill my reward, and I might trust you again. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir. I will obey your command.”

“Excellent.” Gaius stood up and hollered, “Maximus! Come retrieve my Dacian!”

“But, but… I thought…” Alle stammered, searching the Roman’s eyes for any sparkle to suggest the man was joking. He couldn’t go back to that dreadful cell.

“Please, sir. May I stay here with you?”

“Not tonight, Alle.” Gaius lifted his cup and drained the wine in three hefty gulps. “I’ve imbibed more grape than a debauched satyr, and I’ve an official engagement with Emperor Trajan in the morning. By the look of those bags under your heavy-lidded eyes, I imagine you could use some uninterrupted sleep. And sleep well because you’ll be assisting at my dinner party tomorrow evening. I’d originally thought you’d pour ladles of wine, but sadly those hands have disqualified you.”

“My hands?”

“No one wants Bacchus’s nectar served by blistered fingers. What task can I assign you instead?”

Allerix mumbled, “I could assist Euphronia in the kitchen, sir.”

“I’d never see you. And besides—all the knives lying about might tempt you to do something stupid. No, no…” Gaius pressed a finger against his pursed lips and tilted his head until he declared, “I have it! You’ll sing for us. But no ballads celebrating maimed Romans, right? Maximus will teach you an appropriate dinner party song. Many of my dearest associates will be in attendance, some with their wives.”

Before Allerix could react, Max burst into the room.

“Commander.”

Max seemed so much older. Had it only been two months? Feather-like patterns of deep lines encircled his dark brown eyes and full lips. His faced was etched with sadness.

Poor Nicomedes.

Poor fucking Max.

“Maximus—escort Alle to a well-furnished room in the staff quarters. He’s served enough days down in the laborers’ hive of cells. And find our lad a room with a big window and a comfortable mattress, but best to shackle him to the bedframe.”

Both Max and Allerix blurted out, “Sir?”

“Never fucking underestimate a Dacian.” Gaius kissed Allerix’s cheek before softly patting his bum. “And tomorrow morning, Maximus, you’ll teach our beautiful Dacian an entertaining but suitable song to sing for the esteemed guests at my banquet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gaius stepped closer. “I wish you pleasant and refreshing dreams, Alle.”

His strong hands ran up Alle’s sides and down his stomach, exploring his body as if for the first time. And then his lips were on Alle’s mouth. Firm, but quivering with what tasted like hesitation to let go.

When he broke off the kiss with a lingering nibble of Alle’s upper lip, Gaius whispered, “Behave, _căţel_. I want to trust you.”

Allerix barely had time to catch his breath before Max shoved him out the door and down the hallway. They passed the storage room where he’d been caught retrieving his dagger hidden in the crate of scrolls, and then past the arched entrance to the formal gardens with the pool. Nothing had changed except for the flowers. Their vibrant late summer blooms were gone, their withered, thorny stems cut low to the ground.

“Are you well, Dacian?” Max inquired nonchalantly, except for a hint of fondness sweetening his words.

“Greetings, Maximus. Thank you for your concern. I survived.”

“Yes, you do manage to survive somehow.” Max bumped him again but less forcefully. He might have even smiled. “Did you also win at Tabula again? I couldn’t tell.”

“Neither could I, sir.” Alle took a deep breath but didn’t bother to turn his head when he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, “The game’s not over.”

~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**_The Campus Martius, Rome_ **

 

“A perfect day for a military parade! Bloodthirsty Mars smiles upon us this morning, Commander,” the emperor declared in his booming, sturdy voice. Marcus Ulpius Trajan had reached fifty-four years, and still there was no sign that his advancing age had diminished his towering physique or curbed his ambition. Nothing, except for that occasional hacking cough.

In groups of eight, the latest recruits to the elite equestrian bodyguard performed synchronized maneuvers on the field below the viewing platform. Clad in his gleaming bronze armor like some gilded portrait statue perched on a pedestal, Gaius stood beside Marcus and surveyed the surrounding landscape.

In the earliest days of Rome, this expansive field on the northwestern outskirts of the city had served as the prime area for mustering troops and practicing military exercises. But as far back as Gaius could remember the great plain of Mars was the city’s playground, home to grand theaters and horseracing tracks packed in alongside temples and altars to all the gods. Each one a marble memorial commissioned by some long dead general or politician vying for every scrap of attention from future generations.

What a fucking pity.

There was hardly an open patch of parade ground left.

When another group of riders trotted by the podium, clouds of dust enveloped the dais, choking the cool air. Gaius shielded his face with his burgundy cloak until the clip-clop clatter of the horses’ martial exercises faded. He could barely see the damn horsemen through the gritty, tan haze. Worse, his eyesight was growing weaker by the season.

The Lion of the Lucky Fourth was aging into a blind, powerless war hero. Forever second in fucking command.

But soon there would be child.

His child. A legitimate patrician heir.

Juno may have listened to Marcia’s prayers, but the Unconquered Sun-god, Mithras had heard him as well. If the child lived to five years, Gaius would build a grand Mithraeum to honor the god’s generosity. If the baby were healthy and male, he’d build two damn cult halls to his divine, mysterious savior.

“Give me a son, and I will gladly fulfill my vow,” he whispered under his breath.

A horse whinnied, snapping Gaius out of his musings.

“How do you assess these men, Commander Fabius?”

Slowly turning his head, Gaius squinted into the sun. “Do you wish a candid opinion, my esteemed Emperor?”

“On and off the battlefield, I rely on your courage and your honesty, Gaius.”

“The third group requires more training, sir.”

“Indeed they do. And the fourth, don’t you think?”

“And those bloody buffoons in sixth.” Gaius chuckled, tipping his chin towards the band of riders struggling to control their agitated horses. The Emperor patted him hard on the back before barking at the servant standing at the back of the broad platform to bring a jug of fresh water.

Despite his omnipotent power and insatiable lust for victory, Emperor Trajan genuinely cared about the troops and the people and the welfare of the Empire. And the old bastard had proven to be just and fair and everything else Gaius had thought he’d never be. Men who hurt helpless abandoned children weren’t supposed to become decent, benevolent kings.

Fucker.

And yet Gaius regularly thanked Fortuna for the emperor’s success. Rome deserved some damn peace and lawfulness after the terror of Domitian’s brutal reign.

The eighth squadron cantered towards the viewing platform, their armor gleaming in the morning sun, their colorful helmet feathers swaying back and forth with every stride. A fit group of talented men.

“Ah, these lads brings a smile to your face, Gaius.”

“Sharp, disciplined and attractive. Who are they, sir?”

Marcus shielded his eyes. “Many of the new recruits out there are Syrians, but this lot appear to be Batavi.”

“Germans? Explains all the ruddy-faced, blue-eyed ones. Gods help us. Soon barbarians will outnumber the proud Italians in our legions.”

“We’ll need every damn sword and bow we can enlist if we’re to defeat our barbaric nemesis in Asia’s desert, including the blades of our brave German auxiliaries.” Marcus paused to enjoy a gulp of drink. “By sweet Juturna, the water from our blessed Virgin aqueduct is dependably refreshing.”

And then it occurred to Gaius—smacked him in the head like an errant, drunk pigeon. He’d figured he would find some excuse to visit the Guard’s camp, but now this kernel of a scheme had presented itself without warning.

A gift from bloody Mars. He’d make a special sacrifice of gratitude at Mars’ altar before he left the god’s field.

He cleared his throat and cast his die. “I have a thought, Emperor Trajan.”

“Do share, Commander.”

“I know we both found the Dacians to be a formidable fighting force. Perhaps there’s a prisoner or two in the Praetorians’ camp we might consider releasing and training for auxiliary service. Certainly there are more than enough captured, tattooed royals to satisfy the blood lust of both thunderous Jove and vengeful Mars.”

Marcus’s weathered face twisted into a grotesque mask of skepticism. “You wish to enlist Dacian royals in our auxiliary cohorts, Gaius?”

“Every skilled swordsman and bowman we can muster, yes? You did say that yourself, my esteemed Emperor. We’ll need a larger army with greater numbers of both heavy and light cavalrymen as well as a more robust supply line to defeat the scourge of the eastern sands.”

Marcus scratched his clean-shaven chin as he mulled over the suggestion when the polished armor of rider atop a magnificent white steed shimmered in the distance across the practice field. Gaius's incredulous stare morphed into a broad smile as the man’s face came into view.

“Ah, there he is, tardy as usual! And it appears he’s abandoned his African war pony for a tall albino charger. Let’s ask our dear Lusius Quietus his opinion of your intriguing proposal, shall we?”

Marcus waved the dark-skinned officer closer to the platform. The rider dismounted and bowed before raising his deep brown eyes. When he untied his chinstrap and removed his plumed silver helmet, his distinct mass of worm-like, coal-black braids fell loose, framing his lightly bearded face. He hadn’t changed one fucking bit since the last time Gaius had seen him in the wilds of Dacia.

“Greetings, my revered Emperor Trajan. And greetings to you as well, Commander Fabius.”

Rubbing his hands together, Gaius leaned over to Marcus and pleaded, “Permission to descend the platform and shake hands with my shithead of a Berber colleague, sir.”

Marcus laughed. “Permission granted, soldier.”

After Gaius scrambled down the wooden steps, he raced over and pulled Lusius into a fierce embrace with one arm while he shook his right hand with vigor. “When did you arrive in Rome, you filthy hyena?”

“Hyena? I should sue you for slander, my dear copper-bristled boar. In case you’ve forgotten, our most revered emperor promoted me to the senatorial ranks.”

“Ah! Senator Hyena, then.”

“At your service. I passed through the eastern gate of the city three days past. Decimus Sabinus is my host for this brief visit. It’s damn good to see you, Gaius.”

“I am pleased to see you alive, Lusius. Fucking miraculous that we both escaped Dacia with our limbs intact.” Gaius kissed him on both cheeks and mumbled into his ear, “I’m hosting a dinner party this evening. I promise great wine, even better food, and a reading by a highly recommended poet. Of course, there’ll be lithesome dancers and song to entertain the diners as well. Will you join us?”

“A poet, did you say?” Lusius flashed his bright, white-toothed smile and laughed as he pulled Gaius in tighter. “Purple-striped senator or not, I’m still a black hyena from the barrens of Mauretania. I would be most out of place at one of your posh capital banquets, Gaius. I’ve mastered neither clever repartee nor the pretense of interest.”

“All jesting aside, Lusius, you won’t be the only senior military officer in attendance. Titus Petronius will be there.”

Very few men could turn down a personal invitation from Gaius Fabius Rufus. Lusius Quietus, celebrated Mauri commander of the mounted auxiliaries, was one of them. And he would do so with a confident, cocky smile. Like Gaius, he’d been born a citizen, and his victories in Dacia had guaranteed him increased authority at Rome.

“I must decline, my dear Gaius. A much as I would enjoy an evening of intellectual banter with Tribune Petronius and your uptight, learned associates, a serving of scrumptious wet snatch has been procured for me tonight. A beautiful, smooth-skinned courtesan, I’m told; not one of those diseased trollops you and I plough while on campaign. So you see, I will be otherwise engaged. Perhaps we can share an ale or ten at the taverns before I depart the city?”

“Choosing a woman’s delights over my brutish company, hmm? I could bloody order you to attend, but instead I’ll simply hold you to that promised cup of ale.”

“Excellent! Then it’s settled.” Lusius spun Gaius around and pulled him away from the dais towards the open area of the parade grounds. As they strode off arm in arm, Lusius lowered his voice. “And please accept my deepest condolences on the death of your associate, Lucius Petronius. According to the reports I’ve heard the heinous crime has been avenged, yes?”

“So it seems. The Praetorian Prefect Livianus confessed his guilt in a letter before the fiend took his own life.”

“Never trust the fucking Praetorians. But what about this more celebratory news? Rumor in the field is that you are to be father soon.”

“The child is due to be born shortly after the Saturnalia. Marcia and I are most grateful to Juno Lucina and the virgin huntress for their blessings.”

“Splendid news! A Capricorn baby. And finally our virile Lion of the Lucky Fourth will be named the heir designate to the imperial purple. Rightfully so, I would insist. Congratulations on your excellent fortune, my old friend.”

“Your compliments are premature, I’m afraid. Marcus has made no indication of when he’ll officially announce his successor, but…”

A loud string of perturbed coughs rumbled behind their backs. Gaius gulped and stopped dead in his tracks. He glanced at Lusius and mumbled, “Shit.”

“Fuck,” Lusius replied in a whisper before they both turned around and side-by-side marched back to the viewing platform. Expressionless but contrite, both generals bowed low to the ground like mischievous dogs caught digging holes in the palace’s rose garden.

“And here I thought you two miscreants had forgotten about your beloved emperor. Pull your snouts out of the dirt and straighten your spines!” Marcus hollered as he struck the carved oak balustrade with his fist. “Commander Quietus, I require your sage advice. Commander Fabius has suggested we search for suitable additions to the auxiliaries among the Dacian royals being held in the Praetorians’ camp. I’ve had the heathens detained to serve as sacrificial fodder for my triumphal games, but perhaps there’s a useful sword or two amidst the wretched gaggle. What’s your judgment? Can Dacians fight from horseback as well as these talented Batavi lads?”

While Gaius focused straight ahead, conceding the stage to his comrade, Lusius lifted his gaze and replied, “Not as well as the Batavi, my esteemed Emperor, but better than those idiots in the sixth practice formation. During my first deployment across the Danube, I discovered Dacian nobles learn to ride young, sir. And many can handle a variety of weapons with skill in close quarters and at a full gallop. Commander Fabius might be able to identify a candidate or five among the captive hoard in the Guard’s camp. Perhaps he won’t find a single one. We killed most of their seasoned fighters during the last war, sir.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we’ve only the wine dregs at the bottom of the amphora left alive and in our possession. But it’s worth a try. We will need more soldiers, cavalrymen most of all. You have my permission to search the Praetorians’ prison, Commander Fabius. Do report your findings back to me, yes?”

Gaius finally raised his eyes.

“I will do so promptly, sir.”

“Let’s hope your report is more prompt than my invitation to the bash at your home this evening. Mine must have gone astray. Perhaps it blew out of your messenger’s hand and is floating down the Tiber as we speak?”

Gaius swallowed but said nothing.

Marcus ignored his insubordination. “Commander Quietus, were you invited to our Gaius’s little party?”

“Yes, my esteemed Emperor. But I turned the invitation down.”

A laugh erupted from Marcus’s barrel chest. “Wise man! A reward is in order. You will join the Empress and me for a feast of roasted peacock at the palace tonight. No excuses; I insist. Publius Aelius Hadrianus will be in attendance as well, seeing that his invitation to Commander Fabius’s banquet was also lost. He’ll share his new poetry, I hear.”

“I would be most honored, sir.”

“Good. You will enjoy the seat of honor beside my couch. Don’t be tardy. Farewell, lads.”

As Marcus turned to descend the stairs at the far back of the viewing platform, Lusius flashed Gaius the soldiers’ salute and mumbled, “Do _not_ fucking mock me.”

“Mock you? I envy your good fortune, Lusius. And don’t worry. No harlot, however alluring and talented she might be, could possibly compete with the exquisite iambic verse penned our dear Publius.” Gaius patted Lusius’s shoulder and smirked. “Did you happen to bring your toga? Empress Plotina demands formal dress at a palace dinner.”

“Toga?” Lusius raked his scalp. “No. Shit.”

“We’re close to the same build. I’ll have one of mine sent to Sabinus’s home, and we’ll see each other next at Scrofa’s tavern, Commander. I wish you a meal half as pleasant as mine promises to be. To your good health!”

With a disgusted grunt, Lusius shoved his helmet back onto his head. “Prick.”

 

~~~~~

 

  ** _Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome_**

  

After Allerix finished singing the Greek ditty about a lovesick hero with a ridiculously difficult name, again—for the twentieth or more time—Max scrubbed his face and sighed in resignation.

“That’ll have to do. Your voice is lovely, but your pronunciation is still terrible. We don’t have enough time to correct your garble. By the cruel gods, first I was forced to bathe this wooly barbarian, and now I have to train the mongrel how to sing one of Dominus’s favorite songs.”

“Quit your grumbling, Maximus. Look where I’ve wound up, will you? A fucking gelded hairdresser!” Bryaxis griped over Alle’s shoulder before he lightly slapped Allerix’s head. “And would you hold still and stop fidgeting, Dacian. I’ve had to restart this blasted braid three times already.”

“You’ll always be a gorgeous, cheeky slut to me, Bry.” Max jested with a wink.

After he returned the compliment by blowing Max a kiss, Bry jerked hard on Alle’s plait. “Stay still, or I’ll pull this damn tail right off your skull.”

“Ouch! Stop yanking my fucking hair, you bastard!”

Max quietly but firmly cupped Alle’s jaw and turned his head to stare into his angry eyes. Gritting his perfect ivory teeth, Maximus growled. “Mind your words and remember your place within this family, Dacian. You are at the bottom, barely above the wretched workers who dwell down in the hive. Bryaxis fucking outranks you.”

“But Alexandros is the favorite now, isn’t he? I mean… he _was_ Dom’s favorite bed warmer until he fucked up and stole Varius’s dagger, right?” Simon blurted from the doorway before crossing the threshold. “Here, I’ve found all the pieces for his costume: a floppy hat, travelers’ boots, and a slinky blue Greek tunic. Can he play the lyre?”

All three gazes turned to Alle. He nodded sheepishly and confessed, “I’m not good, but I can strum a basic tune.”

Maximus scrunched his brow. “How in the fucking cosmos does a heathen peasant know how to play the lyre?”

“Peasants enjoy music as much as anyone. Maybe more, given how little else they have. We have. Had.” Allerix swallowed and raised his chin defiantly. “My mother taught me on an instrument she’d made herself. She loved to sing.”

It wasn’t a lie—not exactly. His mother _had_ taught him music and craftwork and how to properly recite those complicated, musical prayers to her woodland gods.

Simon handed the light, tortoise shell instrument to Alle. “Here, then. You should practice before your performance. I can’t play music except a few simple children’s songs on a flute, but I dance well. Or I use to. Dom hasn’t asked me to dance in a long time.” Simon’s lament sounded more resigned than resentful.

“Perhaps Fabius will ask you tonight,” Bryaxis interjected, sporting an encouraging, lopsided smile.

“Perhaps.” Simon chuckled half-heartedly. His heavy fringe of soft brown curls flopped down over his watery green eyes. After brushing the locks away from his face, he wiped his nose and cocked his head. “He needs a bit of cosmetics, don’t you think? Some stain on his lips, a bit of rouge, and a touch of eye charcoal?”

~~~~~

 

Before the sun had set that day, his servants decorated every piece of furniture and every doorway on the main floor of his hilltop mansion with evergreen branches twisted into garlands and wrapped in colorful ribbons. Now that night had arrived, the flames atop the tall silver lamps positioned in each room’s corners and along the corridors lit the house in a golden, festive glow. Most of the household staff were buzzing about like bees in the kitchen quarter, while Alle and Delia were busy somewhere practicing for their performances.

He only hoped his frightful ancestral ghosts who’d been haunting this house since his childhood had accepted his offerings at the shrine and agreed to retire early for the evening. He rarely beseeched the creepy old coots for favors, but he wanted tonight to be a relaxing, pleasurable affair with delicious food and good company. Gods forbid a ghastly, dead Fabian rattling a chain spooked his dear friends in the middle of his fucking dinner party.

Gaius marched to the vestibule with his arms outstretched. “Welcome to my home, Governor Petronius. And I’m delighted to see you’ve joined us as well, Antonia. Greetings to you both!”

“Greetings, Commander. Apologies for our late arrival, sir. The children were, um, misbehaving.”

“As children often do, my dear Titus. And these days you have four precocious sprites scampering about your house. Tell me—how is Luc’s daughter managing in her new situation?” Gaius asked as he pulled away from Titus’s embrace. His former Tribune had dark bags under his eyes, and Antonia’s sharp features seemed more distressed than usual.

“My niece is faring as best as can be expected, sir.”

Lifting her blue woolen mantle from her shoulders, Antonia cleared her throat. “She’s been difficult, Commander Fabius. I fear the girl was spoiled to excess. And she’s grieving the loss of both her parents. She was very close with Counselor Petronius. Did you know that?”

Gaius forced a smile.

He hadn’t known father and daughter had grown close. How well had he known his dearest friend, Lucius Petronius? Had Luc become embroiled in some financial scandal involving the palace? Was that the reason behind his murder? The measly evidence they’d recovered so far seemed to be pointing in that direction.

Antonia fretted with the embroidered edge of her cloak. “Poor child. What a terrible tragedy. May I—may I ask a favor of you?”

“Of course. Anything.”

After stealing glances at her husband, Antonia straightened her posture and blurted out, “Would it possible for Lucius’s former slave—the Caledonian named Bryaxis—to visit our home? Petronia refers to him often and with affection. Perhaps his presence would calm her hysteria. Is the slave still alive?”

Gaius had never heard Antonia actually say _Bryaxis_. Antonia Cicurina had always considered her brother-in-law’s love for his pampered barbarian concubine to be most unseemly. Better left unspoken.

“Bryaxis is alive and well, my dear. He’s become an asset to my household staff, so much so I’ve promoted him to senior secretary. He’s earned time to reunite with little Petronia. I’ll have Maximus arrange a visit in consultation with your steward.”

With a grateful, deep exhale she grasped his right hand between both of hers. Her skin was soft, her nails perfectly manicured. He would have thought her quite beautiful if she weren’t uptight and prissy all the blasted time.

“Thank you, sir. I pray the visit helps,” Antonia said with dramatic exasperation. “I’ve made daily offerings to Salus and Hygieia and begged the goddesses to give the girl relief and solace. Her crying and screaming are…”

“Indescribable.”

Gods, no wonder Titus spent too many free hours gambling down at the dockside taverns.

After depositing their heavy cloaks with the doorman, Titus and Antonia followed him through a broad, vaulted corridor to the summer dining room. Gaius motioned them to take the open spots on the couch facing the garden a few steps below. Bronze statues and marble basins enlivened the plantings while torches and bronze lamps suspended from the portico’s ceiling lit the columns surrounding the oblong pool in the center of the lawn, a water feature continually fed by a splashing ornate fountain.

Despite the late season, he was glad he’d decided to banquet on the summer dining terrace. The crisp evening air promised to keep every guest alert no matter how much they gorged on Euphronia’s succulent sparrow appetizers. Plush blankets stacked in short piles on side tables lay at the ready in case the chill proved too uncomfortable for the older men or the women.

“Now that we’re all here, a toast!” Gaius shouted with a smile as he reclined and raised his cup. “To glorious Fortuna and our bountiful mother, Roma!”

“To the health and noble spirit of our esteemed and triumphant Emperor Trajan!” Pliny exclaimed, the flattery flying off his tongue before anyone else could reply.

“To the Emperor!” everyone dutifuly echoed when Tacitus added, “And to our generous host—Gaius Fabius Rufus, my former pupil and the twice-victorious commander of the Lucky Fourth.”

Gaius nodded respectfully and shouted, “To everyone’s good health!” before he tossed his head back to enjoy a generous swallow of wine.

It was a small gathering as dinner parties in Rome went. Titus and Antonia shared the prime couch with Tacitus; an honor since their seats afforded the best views of his lamp-lit estate gardens. To their right sat the architect, Apollodorus, and his charming bride, Helen, while across the low, round serving table Gaius shared the third couch with Pliny. Bryaxis, Simon, and a short, lanky lad from the stables poured the wine. Despite his obvious twitchiness, Simon was doing a splendid job. Not one drop spilt yet. When he caught Simon’s eye, Gaius arched a brow and grinned at him with approval.

“How is our dear Marcia Servilia, Commander Fabius?” Helen inquired as she reached for another bite.

“She’s well, although complaining about her size and her general discomfort. And my grandmother’s constant hovering. I’m expecting another letter from my wife soon.”

“The first child’s always the hardest to deliver,” Antonia mumbled in a knowing but blissful tone. “Are you planning to be there for the birth?”

“After the Ides, the entire family is traveling up to her estate in the Alban Hills to celebrate the Saturnalia with our Domina, and we’ll stay on until the arrival of my heir.”

“All of Rome will rejoice your return, Commander. I’ll sponsor performances in Pompey’s theater in honor of your child’s glorious birth,” Titus promised with a raise of his cup.

And as often happens at proper dinner parties with noble women present, topics of conversation soon devolved to domestic trivialities and festivals and the latest gossip from the palace. Pliny listened attentively to every daft word, while Gaius scrubbed his freshly-shaved face in a poor attempt to feign interest in his companions’ inane banter. When the discussion turned back to gruesome stories of childbirth, Gaius lost his last scrap of patience and interjected, “My dear Pliny, what did the augurs have to say about those birds? How did they interpret the omen?”

Conversations stopped. Omens were an obsession in Rome.

“They declared the sign the gods’ will. Jupiter and Mars and Quirinus hang dark but in our favor over the Palatine. The omen means—war is coming,” Pliny answered, inserting a lawyer’s dramatic pause.

Gaius and Titus laughed, and Titus said, “War is always coming, Senator Plinius. This is Rome. War is what we do. And we do war well.”

Reclining beside Titus, Tacitus furrowed his brow as he added, “Indeed. But it’s such an obvious interpretation, isn’t it? I’m surprised the priests’ reading of those birds’ aggressive flying patterns didn’t reveal something more provocative. Our current crop of augurs have shown themselves to be swayed more by whispers of scandal than by augural precedent. I would have expected a prediction of treason or, gods forbid, assassination.”

“No, they definitely said war,” Pliny countered.

“But war against whom?” Tacitus asked.

“They didn’t say.”

“For shit’s sake. Perhaps the damn starlings were simply evading a fucking hawk,” Gaius barked in frustration before quickly apologizing to the women for his vulgar language.

“There’s that too.” Titus chuckled

Perplexed, Pliny tilted his head and confessed, “I didn’t see a hawk, Commander. Did you see a hawk? What sort of hawk was it? Could it have been an eagle, do you think? Eagles are powerful portents.”

Just then Euphronia and her kitchen staff finally delivered the next course; Gaius sighed and rubbed his face again, thankful for the distraction.

“Pork stuffed with minced duck and pine nuts in a citrus wine sauce, and over here a variety of grilled shellfish and succulent, seasoned bites of lamprey,” Euphronia announced in her endearing, high-pitched voice before directing the kitchen slaves to place the overflowing platters on the serving table. While Gaius and his guests devoured the flavorful delicacies, a slender bearded man in old-fashioned Greek dress entered the room and stood in the center of the elaborate circular mosaic on the floor at the foot of the couches.

“Splendid, my dear Euphronia. Everything smells and tastes heavenly,” Gaius noted before dismissing the kitchen staff. “Who, by the gods, is this dandy chap blocking the view to my gardens?”

The food, the ambience, the excitement over hearing Alle sing again had put him in a playful mood. More silly than mischievous. Gaius chuckled under his breath and asked again, “Well? Who is this?”

Pliny stood to formally present the visitor. “Commander Fabius, Governor Petronius, and all my fellow diners this evening—allow me to introduce Deiphonos from Delphi, a wreath-winning orator who will entertain us tonight.”

Gaius jested, “Orator? I’d thought you’d said you’d hired a bloody poet? I was expecting some damn poetry, my dear Pliny.”

“The poet fell ill, Commander. A case of spoiled figs, I was told. Deiphonos has promised to recite a few exciting passages from our famed Plutarch’s thrilling _Life of Alexander,_ if it would please you.”

While everyone else nodded with enthusiasm or hummed gleefully, Tacitus scoffed at the suggestion. “Bah! Popular lowbrow fodder crafted to delight the common mob. Perhaps our Plutarch’s much nobler _Life of Caesar_ instead, Commander Fabius?”

The festive mood in the summer dining hall turned sour. On all three couches, the guests’ hopeful smiles dropped in unison. Holding a silver wine jug between his long fingers, Bryaxis glanced down at the mosaic floor to conceal his disappointment. Lucius had adored the heroic tales of the mad Macedonian general. Shit, everyone—slave, citizen, aristocrat, and proletarian—loved to hear the adventures of the great Alexander. Everyone except, apparently, cantankerous old Tacitus.

Obstinate bugger.

Gaius wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to rub away the smirk threatening to curl his lips. “Give us a satisfying pairing of passages from both Plutarch’s Alexander and his Caesar. That _is_ how our famed priest of Apollo intended his _Lives_ be enjoyed, correct? You can manage that, right? Deiphonos, Prize-winning Orator of Delphi?”

His cheeks flushed red, the Greek puffed out his sunken chest and declared, “Yes, sir. It would be a great honor, sir.”

“Good. Get on with it.”

“Excellent compromise, Commander Fabius,” Pliny remarked as he returned to his place beside Gaius and snatched up a crisp piece of roasted meat.

Leaning over, Gaius murmured low in Pliny’s ear, “This performance had better be entertaining, and fucking quick. I’ve dancing and music in store for us next. My lad has a mellifluous voice, and I’m growing impatient to hear him sing.”

Pliny swallowed his mouthful of pork before subtly gesturing to the Greek to speed the proceedings along.

As instructed, the Greek orator delivered a few choice passages from both works, bowed once during the applause, and left. He’d earn extra coin for that solid and swift performance. No sooner had Deiphonos toddled out the side door when a troop of flute and horn players rushed in and plopped onto the portable wooden folding stools they’d had slung over their shoulders. The music started slow, a gentle melody to soothe the diners’ ears as the kitchen staff delivered fragrant trays of honeyed fruits and delicate pastries.

When the musicians sped up the pace, creating a swirling cloud of sound, she twirled into the hall in a blur of bronze and ivory. Delia’s diaphonous dress clung to her luscious curves, the extra fabric flowing like ripples on water with her every turn. Soon, the frenzied dance slowed to a seductive display of beauty and strength—her long, slender arms swaying through the air, her hips rolling in hypnotizing waves.

Over in the corner, Simon rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet in rhythm to the tiny brass cymbals she played with her fingers. It had been too long since Gaius had enjoyed Simon’s graceful gyrations. The lad had a hard time kneeling with any fucking elegance, but he could dance as well as Delia, perhaps better. Gaius couldn’t remember. It _had_ been too long.

He waved Simon over to his couch and pulled the wine jug from his bed warmer’s hands. Former bed warmer. He didn’t fuck Simon these days.

“Your feet seem anxious to move. I’ll take this, and you go join our Arabian butterfly. Dance for us, Simon.”

“Dominus?” Simon pulled at his tunic and said, “But, sir—I’m not dressed properly.”

Gaius smiled and replied, “Then change into a garment more suitable, pup. Quickly.”

Simon returned just as Delia began to tire. He’d selected a square of lustrous green and gold fabric which he’d knotted at his right hip to form a simple but elegant skirt. Glimpes of white cloth underneath revealed Simon had opted to wear an undergarment, wise given the married couples in attendence. Dark coal encircled his vibrant green eyes. The gold bracelets Gaius had given him were wrapped around each wrist. A light rubdown with exercise oil caused his lean muscles to shimmer in the lamp light.

Gaius had forgotten how beautifully Simon moved to music. Back and forth, swaying to the sweet rolling notes of the flutes. When the lad began shaking his fit bum a bit too suggestively, Bryaxis coughed and gestured for him to remember his audience. Simon’s blush of embarrassment was so adorable Gaius nearly laughed out loud.

For a bitter, violent shithead of an orphan who’d once shot peckers off marble statues, Gaius Fabius Rufus certainly had found a loveable, charming little family. When they weren’t interrupting his writing.

Fortuna and Mithras had blessed him several times over. They’d given him Allerix.

But they’d taken poor Nicomedes.

A lamb for a wolf.

Gaius pinched the bridge of his patrician nose before gulping a greedy swallow of wine.

With a graceful swing of his arm and a low bow, Simon ended his alluring dance. When he lifted his sweaty face, the boy’s joyous smile met Gaius’s proud grin. Everyone clapped hard, thrilled by the skill of the dancers, while Bryaxis and the stable slave refilled their wine cups.

“Wonderful, Simon. You and Delia both. We should consider having you two perform as a pair sometime.”

Simon’s emerald eyes widened right before his cheeks flushed bright rose, just as Gaius had hoped they would. Simon’s modest exuberance reminded Gaius of Simon’s father, Theodorus. Both good men with good hearts.

Raising his cup to finish off the last slurp, Gaius paused and said,“Yes, a dancing duo is an excellent idea. Now, enjoy a hearty meal, a cup of good grape, and rest. Off with you. And tell Maximus we’re ready for song.”

“Yes, Dominus,” they replied and padded out of the room.

As he lay there waiting, Gaius’s fingers twitched and his heart beat fast. The anticipation crawled through his veins, warming his gut and his groin. Thank the gods he happened to be looking at the back wall when giggles and then laughter erupted throughout the dining hall.

There he was.

Allerix stood motionless at the foot of the couches, clad in a floppy Phrygian cap, high leather boots, and a silky blue tunic pinned at his left shoulder, exposing his right arm. Gods, he looked awkward and stunning and so fucking uncomfortable. His large, heavy-lidded eyes were lined with charcoal cosmetics, his mouth and cheeks stained red. A mixture of anger and embarrassment and sadness raged in every quiver of his upper lip as he bit down on the lower.

Humiliation.

“Quiet, everyone!”

Gaius’s brusk, martial tone put an end to his companions’ callous snickering.

He lept to his feet. “Now it’s my pleasure, ladies and gentlemen. Allow me to introduce my dear Alexandros. This handsome, talented lad will play the part of Orpheus for us this evening. Alle is a recent but most beloved member of my dear family.” Gaius spat the final words through gritted teeth. He gently touched Alle’s covered shoulder and smiled. “You look marvelous in this costume, Alexandros. But I think the lads applied far too much rouge. Let me have a bit—you have enough to share.” Gaius swiped the excessive rose pigment from Alle’s cheeks with his thumb and rubbed the cosmetic paste all over his own cheeks.

With a daft, warm smile, Gaius assured him in a softer tone, “Now we’re both pretty, painted fools. Trust me, no one will laugh again. Look, you’ve brought a lyre! I had no idea you could play. Please—enchant us.”

After he strummed the lyre’s taut strings, Allerix opened his mouth and began to sing when his voice cracked from nerves. He tried to cough it away, nearly dropping the damn instrument, when Gaius grabbed a cup of wine and held it to his lips. “Here, wet your throat.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alle accepted the fancy silver cup and inhaled the drink. “Thank you, Dominus.” The sincerity in the lad’s words caused Gaius’s heart to jump into his own damn throat.

“When you’re ready,” Gaius replied, fighting to stay calm and composed, and returned to his spot on his couch.

After a few more hesitantly strummed notes, Allerix began to sing Gaius’s favorite song that Maximus had taught him earlier. Despite Alle’s strained pronunciation and occasional sour note on the lyre, the guests’ were enraptured by his perfect, sonorous voice.

“By gods, he _is_ Orpheus. Where did you find this boy, Commander?” Antonia whispered too loudly.

Gaius waved off her question by pressing hs forefinger to his lips. He tried his damndest not to wince each time Allerix hit a wrong note on the lyre. His Dacian warrior could sing better than anyone Gaius had ever heard, but the lad needed much more practice with that instrument. Gaius’s lips melted into a smile. He would teach Alle how to caress sweet music from the lyre, but in the meantime...

“Stop.”

Alle paused in the middle of a word, his open mouth a perfect circle. Gaius rose and walked over to the round mosaic on the floor; gently, he pried the lyre from Allerix’s hands. “Maximus! Bring my cithara, will you? I believe it’s in my office. And as for you, my dear Alexandros, let’s have you focus on sharing your sublime voice. Will you allow me to accompany you?”

Alle turned his head to hide his joy, but Gaius spied the Dacian’s grateful grin before it disappeared. He would have kissed Alle right there on his luscious stained lips if some of his guests’ hadn’t thought such overt displays of affection most unseemly.

Allerix asked, “You play the lyre? Sir?”

“The lyre’s simple to play once you understand it’s nature. Now the lyre’s larger cousin takes years of practice to master. I’ve found the extraordinary, rich sounds the cithara offers are well worth the time and effort to learn how to play it properly.”

Max returned to the summer dining room with Gaius’s expensive, precious cithara hugged tight to his chest. Carefully, he handed the instrument to Gaius and disappeared out of view. Cradling the large instrument like a child, Gaius sat down on the edge of his couch and steadied the heavy ivory and wood cithara on his left thigh. He plucked a few strings, adjusted the tuning, and played the first few notes of the song.

Allerix’s gasp of shock followed by his expression of pure delight took Gaius’s breath away.

“How did you learn to play so well, Commander Fabius?” Helen asked.

“I learned the cithara as a boy, my dear. My mother, like many mothers of rambunctious Roman lads, had hoped my destructive tendencies might be mitigated by the gentility of music. She forced me to practice the cithara every afternoon after my school lessons. Julia gave me this exquisite instrument. It was the last present I ever received from her. But enough bittersweet memories. Alexandros, are you ready?”

“I’m ready, sir.” Alle’s confidence shone bright in his hazel eyes.

The music Alle’s gifted voice and Gaius’s skilled fingers created together rivaled the divine hymns of Apollo and Euterpe. Every note was beautifully balanced, each verse stronger and more dulcet than the last. When Allerix finished the song with soft, trailing hum, Gaius plucked the last chords and sighed. He would have lingered in that sweet moment forever if the fucking gods had permitted.

“I would argue that together you two are greater than Orpheus, Commander. A perfection of celestial harmony,” Tacitus declared. “I’m most impressed, Gaius.”

“Given how rare your praise is, _magister_ , I will treasure that compliment for the rest of my life.”

“To a long, prosperous life blessed by all the Muses!” Pliny lifted his wine cup in a spontaneous toast, quickly joined by the rest of the guests.

“To our dear Alexandros and his rare gift for song,” Gaius replied as he handed his unwieldy instrument to Bryaxis. Even Luc’s Caledonian appeared amazed by the performance. Gaius marched over to the side serving table and refreshed his wine. When he handed his silver cup to Alle, he whispered, “Nectar for my handsome siren.”

Allerix enjoyed two hearty swallows before Gaius took the cup and wrapped his arm around Alle’s shoulders, pulling him into the nearby corridor, momentarily abandoning his guests and his host duties.

“It seems we’re a good match in many ways, Alle.”

“You’re a talented musician, sir. I very much enjoyed singing for you and your friends.”

Gaius lifted Alle’s chin and softly kissed him on the lips, his kiss both tender and bursting with affection. “We’ll play together again sometime. For now, find something to eat in the kitchen and go straight to bed afterwards. We’ve a busy day tomorrow, you and I.”

Alle pulled back. “May I ask what we’re doing? Sir?”

“You may.” Gaius finished the last swig of the wine and answered, “At first light, we’re traveling north to pay a visit to the Praetorians’ camp. It’s time to locate your wretched comrade and say farewell, if the bloody fool’s still alive in their prison. Do you understand, _căţel_?”

“Yes, I understand. Dominus.”

~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

A long and dark draft chapter. Trigger warning for suicide. Proceed with caution....  
  
  


**The Praetorians’ Camps, Rome**

  

As their mounts clip-clopped up the paved road, the camps’ walls soared higher and higher into the cloudless sky with each stride. Allerix had spotted the large fort from a distance; it was impossible to ignore. A massive structure of red brick sprawled across the plateau of a low-lying ridge. But here, from this angle, the monstrous building blotted out the horizon. Crowning the fortress’ ramparts stood rectangular towers connected by parapet walls. A menacing iron-bar gate blocked the arched portal in the main entrance tower. Random flashes of sunlight reflected off polished metal, betraying the sentries stationed at the entrance tower’s three large, dark windows.

Could Brasus still be alive imprisoned somewhere inside this terrifying red brick beast?

The Roman tipped his chin. “The camps of the Praetorian Guard.”

“I gathered as much.”

“No cheeky nonsense in public, Alexandros.” Despite Gaius’s scowl and wagging finger, his amber eyes smiled at Alle. “Save that sass of yours for more appropriate circumstances.”

“May I ask a question, Dominus?”

“Yes, you may.”

“Why are we accompanied by guards?”

“These men are state-appointed attendants. They carry the ceremonial fasces and they’re here to remind the Praetorians that I, the Commander of the Lucky Fourth and second in command of Rome’s legions, have also achieved supreme rank in both the Senate and at the Palace. The lictors are merely costume accessories for today’s performance. Little more than ornaments of power, _căţel_.”

Gaius curled his hand into a fist and bellowed, “Stop!”

All six of the Roman’s brutish bodyguards came to a halt; with martial precision they split into two groups of three on either side of the basalt pavers. Most of the lictors froze in place except for two men who adjusted the bundles of long rods resting against their shoulders before snapping to attention.

“Wait here for my return.”

“Yes, Commander,” replied an older lictor sporting a single, bushy black eyebrow.

Dressed in his glimmering bronze breastplate and an embellished crimson mantle pinned at the shoulder, the Roman rode his chestnut charger past the guards without giving them a second glance; his tapered eyes were trained on the gate ahead. With his red-plumed silver helmet strapped to his saddle, Gaius caressed the handle of the sword sheathed in a scabbard attached to his ornate leather baldric. Gentle autumn breezes stirred the cool air, blowing his copper curls away from his face, revealing his determined jawline and his distinctive beaked nose.

Allerix was forced to admit Gaius was an impressive bastard from head to toe. A skilled general ruthless in his success on the battlefield. An educated, ruggedly handsome aristocrat who devoured books, loved to laugh, and played the sweetest music Alle had ever heard. What were his weaknesses? His secrets?

The longer he stayed the man’s slave, the more Allerix realized that Gaius Fabius Rufus was an intoxicating puzzle he ached to solve. How much time would he have before an opportunity to achieve his revenge presented itself, and he departed this cruel world for the blessed afterlife? How many months—or days—did Alle have to decipher the Roman? Here they were, about to enter the spookiest fortress Allerix had ever imagined, let alone seen with his own eyes. Bold and unfazed, the Roman turned around in his saddle and smiled his dimpled grin. What, if anything, frightened the man?

“Catch up then, Alexandros. We haven’t all day!” Gaius half-barked, half-laughed as he motioned for Alle to trot up alongside him.

Alle glanced down; he looked more like a beggar than a prince, which was wise considering this camp contained a prison for captured Dacian royals. On this sunny autumn day, Allerix would play the part of a peasant lad turned obedient house slave—his inglorious role in this curious mission.

Clad in a shabby brown tunic, a faded green cloak, and worn boots, Allerix stroked the neck of the dawdling mule he’d ridden all morning. At least he hadn’t had to walk the entire way to this fortress.

“C’mon, then. Let’s move, old boy.”

He kicked the animal’s flanks, smacked its shoulders and clicked his tongue, but the disinterested beast ignored every bit of prodding. With a sigh, Alle sank back into the saddle, surrendering to the mule’s plodding methodical pace as it meandered up the path.

When he finally reached the Roman, he complained, “Damn stubborn pack animal, this one.”

Gaius laughed. “The mule’s name is Pertinax. Dependable, but obstinate. Identify your comrade—assuming he’s here—and the next time we venture out, I’ll assign you a proper horse. I sent word ahead to inform these overpaid pricks of our arrival. The officer in charge will be expecting my visit.”

“This place is enormous.”

“With the war over and Emperor Trajan in the capital, there are well over five thousand well-armed Praetorians housed inside these camps alone. More are garrisoned at the palace. A shady bunch of fuckers, the whole lot of them—except for a handful of loyal men. Stay close by my side. You’re safe with me.”

“Yes, Dominus. But I’m still confused.”

“Go on. What don’t you understand?”

“Why do you despise these Praetorian soldiers? Aren’t they under your command, sir?”

Gaius jerked the mule’s reins out of Allerix’s hands and pulled the sluggish beast along while his horse climbed towards the entranceway. “The Guard is an elite, highly-trained force of ten cohorts—nearly a thousand men each—under the direct command of the emperor. They’re his bodyguards.” Gaius responded and then added, “But Praetorians are only loyal to an emperor whom they respect, fear, _and_ one who pays them handsomely enough to satisfy their greed.”

“They protect him for money? These men are mercenaries?”

“Home grown soldiers of fortune.”

“Are they a danger to you?”

“Not at the moment. Thank heartless Jove, Emperor Trajan has earned their fidelity at least for now. Tomorrow? Who knows? Nothing is certain with the fucking Praetorians. Fortunately, I’ve installed an agent or two of mine among their ranks. Come, we’ve work to do.”

Gaius kicked his horse to a fast trot. The clacking sounds of eight hooves rang from the road pavers, deliberately announcing the general’s arrival. The iron gate pulled up, and a man stepped through the archway, the shiny overlapping plates of his elaborate chest armor grinding together like scales on a metal lizard as he walked over to salute Gaius.

“Warmest greetings to you, Commander Fabius. Welcome to the Praetorians’ camps. Would you care to discuss your business over a cool drink of water? Perhaps you’ll stay for the midday meal?”

“Greetings, Sulpicius. I take it Prefect Victorinus is not in residence.”

“No, sir. He’s permanently stationed at the palace, along with the two senior tribunes. As next in command, I’m responsible for operations at the camps.”

Gaius slid down from his mount and grasped the guard by his shoulders. “You’ve been promoted! Well done, Centurion—or should I say, _Tribune_ Sulpicius. I am most grateful for your hospitality, but this will be a quick visit. No time for leisurely dining, I’m afraid. As I explained in my letter, I’m here on orders from the Emperor.”

Sulpicius glanced over Gaius’s shoulder and stared at Alle still astride his mule.

“Is the lad your slave, sir?”

“Yes, Alexandros is one of my domestic slaves. He’s accompanied me here because his mastery of the Dacian language is far better than mine.” Gaius turned and gestured to the ground. “Drop down from that beast, Alle. We’ll leave the animals with the portal watchmen. Have we permission to enter the Guards’ camps, Tribune?”

The officer raised his brows and eyed Alle suspiciously. Gaius cleared his throat; Sulpicius quickly collected himself and answered with a swallow, “Yes, Commander. Yes, of course.”

No further questions about the Dacian-speaking slave.

Respectful obedience.

One of the Roman’s agents?

Gaius wrapped his arm around the Tribune’s shoulder and steered him towards the fortress’ entrance gate. “Do you understand the purpose of my visit?”

“To review the Dacian captives for—”

Gaius raised his pointer finger to hush him. “Good. Escort us to whatever you’re using for a prison these days, my dear Tribune Sulpicius.”

Allerix stayed two steps behind as they followed the blond officer through the toothed gate and across the unroofed expanse of the central courtyard. The noisy, rectangular space was packed with carefully arranged rows of identical wooden barracks and a few larger brick buildings. As they walked down a pathway between the soldiers’ quarters, men outside stopped whatever they were doing and acknowledged the general; in return, Gaius nodded to each man as if he knew them personally.

After they passed the last group of soldiers on benches in front of their barracks cleaning their gear, Gaius asked, “How is your father, Sulpicius? Doing well, I hope.”

“Very well, sir. Now that he’s served thirty years in the army, he and my mother have retired to a pleasant villa with a small citrus orchard on the coast of Corsica.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Please send my dear veteran my warmest regards in your next letter.”

“I will, Commander.”

“And do tell your father how delighted I am to see my financial investment in his eldest son’s schooling was worth every bit of coin. He must be proud of your accomplishments, Tribune. I certainly am.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you. Again.”

“Your branch of the Sulpicii have been loyal and dependable clients of the Fabii for generations. We take care of our trusted associates and provide whatever means necessary for them to succeed. You and your father are family. Is your younger brother still a drunkard?”

“Alas, his excesses finally killed him last year, the poor sod.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sulpicius wiped his eye and pointed. “We’re housing the captives in that old granary just ahead. We’ve lost a few Dacians to illness and aggravated battle injuries, but most of the heathens should be healthy enough to put on a good show for Emperor Trajan’s games.”

Alle’s nearly lost his balance, his stomach twisting into knots. Would he find a way to kill their bloodthirsty king before these lethal games happened? Would it matter if he did?

They left behind the sunlight and fresh air of the central square as they crossed the threshold of a large doorway in the storage building; the stench assaulted Allerix’s nostrils. He gagged and covered his mouth with his fist, praying he’d get through whatever this turned out to be without vomiting.

“Have some water, Alle,” Gaius insisted, handing him his leather-wrapped metal canteen. “Sulpicius, is there a relatively spacious room in here I might use as a temporary office?”

“Yes, Commander—right over here. So you’re aware, the barbarians are chained to the floor behind this wall.” Sulpicius casually rapped his knuckles against the dark bricks.

Who was behind that wall?

Who’d survived the last war?

Before is own idiotic capture, Alle remembered rumors flittering through the refugee settlements in the mountains. Whispers that this or that warrior had survived the great siege and had been dragged to Rome as a prisoner of war. As a trophy to be ripped to bloody shreds for their amusement.

Alle reached out to touch the cold barrier between him and his countrymen when his fingers withdrew, as if of their own will. If the Roman truly meant for him to stand in front of his comrades and identify Brasus, he would find out soon enough who’d been captured. He would learn which of his fellow Dacian noblemen Allerix, second son of King Thiamarkos, would be forced to betray.

As they followed the Praetorian down the dimly lit, narrow corridor, Sulpicius explained, “We keep a store of lamps, rags, and a few jars of perfume in this room, Commander. You’ll find it’s dark in the common cell, and the odor can be overbearing. We regularly douse the mongrels with buckets, of course, but...”

The Praetorian shrugged before pushing a wooden door open. The provisional office space was barely adequate: a desk and a folding stool but no substantial window. A small opening at the top of the wall provided a modest amount of light. The air hung heavy with the fetor of despair.

“Sparse, but it’ll suffice. We won’t be here long.”

“Let me have more comfortable seating brought here for you, sir. I’ll be content with the stool.”

“That’s considerate of you, Sulpicius, but I have no need of a better chair or your assistance for that matter. You may leave.”

The Praetorian side-eyed Alle. “Are you certain, Commander Fabius?”

“Farewell, Tribune. Should I require anything, I’ll be sure to inform you.”

“Yes, sir.” Sulpicius saluted with hesitation and tossed another wary, forehead-wrinkling glance in Alle’s direction before he left.

“Sit down, Alle,” Gaius insisted, motioning to the stool. After Allerix placed the Roman’s canteen on the table, he plopped into the curved wooden seat as Gaius leaned against the wall and crossed his thick, freckled forearms. “Do you understand why we’re here, _căţel_?”

“You want me to identify Brasus, assuming he’s one of the prisoners behind that wall.”

“And why is that?”

“I have no fucking idea. To kill him, sir?”

Gaius’s sigh held a hint of amusement. “While we were down at my Campanian villa, I had intended to kill your comrade. You’d said the callous prick had hurt you, that he’d never returned your affections for him. I confess I despise unrequited love stories—all the pining and wasted tears and self-loathing.”

He grabbed the canteen and continued, “Yes, I dreamed of finding the shithead who broke your young heart and then putting a sword through him. But after some reflection—those months you were down in my workers’ quarters—I decided my initial plan was childish and spiteful. Don’t misunderstand me. I’ve always been a jealous bastard by nature. But never a petty one.”

“Then why are we here, Dominus?”

“Ah! I devised a new plan.” Gaius pulled Alle’s gold-handled dagger from his travel satchel and waved it as he continued. “This visit was meant to be your final farewell to your dear nitwit Brasus. I figured I’d simply offer you the chance to give him this pretty knife to commit a noble death—his own. Your people do consider taking one’s own life in the face of calamitous disaster an honorable act, no?”

“Many do. Our god doesn’t forbid it.”

“Our merciless gods fucking encourage it. But then I realized another problem. Whether I killed your friend or he did it himself, you would understandably blame me for his death.”

Gaius paused and raised the canteen above his lips. Gulps of drink rolled down his throat. He blinked slowly as he wiped his mouth and lowered his voice. His words were soft and unsteady. “I want to earn your trust, Allerix, not have you hate me any more than you already do.”

“I don’t hate you, sir.”

“Well, you should.” Gaius placed the dagger back in his leather bag. “But by blessed Fortuna, a third option became clear yesterday morning while I was reviewing the latest additions to the Emperor’s Horse Guard. A brilliant stratagem sent by bloody Mars himself.”

Allerix waited until Gaius’s smile disappeared. “Sir?”

“Can your friend Brasus ride? Is he a skilled swordsman? An archer, perhaps?”

“He can wield a sword, and of course he can ride.”

“As well as you?”

“No, not as well as me.”

“Yes, that was a daft question, what with him here as a prisoner in this dreadful place and you living the comfortable life of a bed warmer at my mansion.”

“We were _both_ captured, sir.”

“I’m angering you. That was not my intention.”

“Then what is your purpose, Dominus?”

“Mind your temper, _căţel_. Emperor Trajan has given me permission to search for recruits to our foreign auxiliaries. We need cavalrymen. If he shows a strong character and the appropriate enthusiasm, your friend Brasus might be eligible for enlistment.”

“You want him to fight for you? In your army?”

“As a member of our auxiliary forces, yes. He’d live rather than die in our arena, and he’d have a new, nobler purpose as a respected soldier riding for the glory of Rome. Should he survive our training and a long tenure in the auxiliaries, the idiot might even earn citizenship. And perhaps a comfortable retirement with a grant of arable land and a pension. Do you think your blue-eyed Brasus would like that?”

“I—I don’t know. Would you allow me to join your auxiliaries? You’ve seen me ride, and I’m excellent with a bow.”

Gaius sat on the edge of the table and rubbed the end of Alle’s thick braid between his thumb and forefinger.

“You would make an extraordinary auxiliary cavalryman if it weren’t for the acts of the dreadful Fates. As it is, you’re now a slave, and slaves are not permitted to serve in the Roman army. Your comrade, on the other hand, is a prisoner. A barbarian captive, true, but he’s still, in the eyes of our laws, a free man. Until he’s ripped apart by the beasts, he’s eligible for auxiliary service. _You_ , my beautiful, fierce Allerix are not.”

Allerix mulled over Gaius’s words before releasing a long exhale. Through gritted teeth, he asked, “I’m a slave, but Brasus is considered free?”

The Roman cupped Alle’s jaw and lifted his face. “That is reality. Do you wish to give your foolish comrade this chance at a new life?”

“You would do that? Even though you desire him dead?”

“Yes, but only if it would please you. Otherwise the shithead can continue to rot until they drag him off to the amphitheater. Whichever destiny would help to mend your heart, Allerix. Whichever path would earn your trust and loyalty.”

“This is a trick. Another one of your games.”

“Perhaps. Decide—does blue-eyed Brasus live or die?”

“He may not even be here, sir.”

“True. Shall we find out?” Gaius rummaged through the wooden box on the desk. “Here, drizzle rose water on these two rags and tie one of the cloths around your head so it covers your nose and mouth. I’ll light a lamp. And, Alle…”

“Yes, Dominus?”

“I can order the Praetorians to release more than one of these Dacians for auxiliary training. Let’s say we’ll spare four prisoners—half a tent’s worth of fighting lads—that is if you can identify that many qualified candidates. I’ll take one of those rags.”

When he recovered his senses, Alle gulped and offered Gaius a perfumed piece of fabric before knotting the second strip of cloth at the back of his head. He pulled the white fabric up over his nose and inhaled the faint whiff of rose petals, imagining how sweet it would feel to spare his condemned comrades lives. On this day, Prince Allerix would be more than the useless, second son of an insignificant, defeated king.

He would be a savior.

“Follow me,” the Roman commanded and stepped out into the corridor. When they were halfway down the narrow hallway, he stopped and mumbled into Alle’s ear, “Cover your head with the hood of you cloak, stay in the shadows, and do not speak. Only translate what I say, and disguise your mellifluous voice for fuck’s sake. There’s a good chance some of these prisoners might recognize you, and your true identity must be protected at all costs. Both of our lives depend on it. Do you understand?”

“I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Gaius kissed the swell of Allerix’s cheek. “I will _not_ lose you.”

They reached the end of the corridor. Gaius gestured to Alle to remain still and peeked around the corner.

“Two heavily armed soldiers stationed at the entrance to the common cell. Are you ready?”

Alle readjusted the rag tied over the lower half of his face and nodded.

Shit.

“Greetings, gentlemen! Gaius Fabius Rufus, Commander of the Lucky Fourth, here to inspect the Dacian prisoners,” Gaius roared as he marched over to the towering men clad in metal armor, their hands grasping the hilts of their swords.

“Commander Fabius,” they answered in unison and somehow straightened their already unnaturally stiff postures. “Greetings, sir. The heathens are chained together along the back wall and ready for your assessment, sir.”

“Excellent. This is Alexandros, my slave who’ll be translating for me.” Shielding his nose with the wadded scented fabric, a lit ceramic lamp cupped in his other palm Gaius glanced into the cavernous room. “We’ll need more light. Free up those torches and show me what you have here.”

After the guards lifted the flaming torches from their iron brackets, they crossed the threshold. Pitch-black darkness surrendered to the flickering light as pairs of eyes, wide and terrified, blinked back at Gaius and Alle. The shapeless forms didn’t appear human; merely lifeless grey lumps of misery and hopelessness. Careful to hide his face in the shadows, Allerix peered over Gaius shoulder and scanned the row of men seated on the dirty floor.

Gods, he recognized several of them. Disconcerting memories of banquets and songs by the hearth and metal blades clashing against one other clouded his mind.

And then his surveying eyes stopped.

There.

Three lads with whom he’d once shared jokes and war stories and wine. Alle couldn’t recall the two younger men’s names, but the oldest one he remembered: Denzibalos, though his mates called him Denzi. He’d been a friendly, funny sort, unlike most of the haughty, egotistical Dacian noblemen Alle had known.

Resting his palms on the armor covering Gaius’s broad shoulders, Allerix leaned in and whispered, “Sir, those three men huddled together in the middle can all ride quite well, and the oldest one is an excellent swordsman.”

Gaius nodded and crossed the threshold but kept his distance from the prisoners. “Unlock the chains for these three.”

After the guards had released the shackles, Gaius barked, “Stand up!”

With effort and a few grunts, they helped each other off the floor. The filthy sacks they wore for tunics fell above their knees; their feet were bare and swollen.

“Well, you seem to understand some Latin. That’ll be helpful.” Gaius turned to the guards. “Escort them to the spare room around the corner for interrogation. Before you go, hand me one of those torches. I’ll join you in moment.”

After the guards shoved the three confused and scared prisoners off to the makeshift office, Gaius stepped back into the corridor and turned to Allerix. “Is he one of those three?”

“No, sir. I’m not sure he’s here,” Alle replied in a whisper, squinting into the darkness of the common cell.

“Let’s have another look. We won’t have this chance again,” Gaius insisted, giving the lamp to Allerix before reentering the gloomy room with the blazing torch in hand.

More wide, wary pairs of eyes stared at Allerix. Even though he was sure they couldn’t see his face obscured by the cloth mask and his floppy hood, Alle backed up two steps to hide farther back in the shadows. He’d helped spare three of his countrymen already. Could he save Brasus?

A head lifted.

Blue eyes opened.

Still as bright as a clear sky, but weary and bloodshot.

Brasus.

When Allerix let out a soft gasp, Gaius followed the line of Alle’s startled stare and withdrew his sword, pointing the lethal tip at the blue-eyed man on the floor.

“This one?”

“Yes, sir,” Alle replied in a silly, high-pitched voice. Gods, he was terrible actor.

Gaius chuckled. “And we have our answer.” He sheathed his sword and returned to stand by Alle’s side. “Come, let’s first chat with the three detained in the other room. Our blue-eyed boy isn’t going any where.”

Back in the Roman’s temporary office, a trio of bemused Dacians stood against the wall. A beam of light from the small window shone on their squinting faces. Allerix deposited the lit lamp on the table and hurried to the dark corner by the door, pulling his hood lower to conceal his eyes.

After Gaius sat on the stool behind the desk, he asked, “What are your names and ages?”

Alle translated his question in the only silly disguised voice he seemed to be able to muster.

The older Dacian with an elaborate tattoo on his arm answered in rudimentary Latin, “I am called Denzibalos, twenty and nine years. My cousin is called Dotos. He is twenty and three. Our comrade is called Rolouzis.” Denzibalos murmured a few words to bewildered and twitchy Rolouzis. He mumbled back, and Denzibalos added, “He is twenty years and five.”

“Excellent. Still young, you know some of our language—” Gaius stood and looked them over before returning to his seat. “And you’re in reasonably good health.

 You three have been selected to serve as cavalrymen in our auxiliary forces. You will be released from this prison and soon shipped to a military training camp in Egypt. You are experienced horsemen, yes?”

When Alle finished relaying the words in Dacian, Denzibalos scrunched his brow and with a cracking voice said, “Yes. We ride well. Very well.”

After he translated Gaius’s detailed explanation of the terms of auxiliary service and all of the potential rewards, all three men awkwardly hugged each other. Dotos wept tears of joy and dropped to his knees, crawling over to kiss the Roman’s hand until one of the guards stopped him.

“Savior!” the overwhelmed lad cried out in Dacian.

Hidden in the shadows, Allerix wiped his watery eyes. At least Denzibalos and Dotos and the third fellow would live. Perhaps they’d find happiness. Love. New families in a new home.

“Take these men to a spare room in the barracks. An auxiliary officer will collect them in a few days. And offer them platefuls of decent food.”

One guard replied sheepishly, “We’d planned on fattening them all up once the schedule for our esteemed Emperor’s triumphal games was announced, Commander Fabius.”

“Feed these three men now! I’m holding you personally responsible for their welfare. Be sure they’re fit and of use to the auxiliaries,” Gaius barked and gestured to the slightly shorter of the two guards. “Unshackle and bring the blue-eyed Dacian prisoner in the common cell here to me. He’s the fifth man from the right.”

The guards led the relieved men, babbling to each other in hushed voices, out of office.

“I suspect they’ll perform satisfactorily. Excellent work, Alle. Are you prepared to see your fellow, Brasus, freed from this shithole?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Allerix responded, “Yes, Dominus. Will he also be sent to Egypt?”

“We have one of our main training camps located near Thebes. More than a thousand miles from Rome. Far, far away from you. And, more importantly, from me. You’re not all that talented at disguising your voice though, are you? I might just have to call you Alexandra.”

“I don’t regularly pretend to be someone else, sir.”

Gaius laughed. “Is that so, Allethodokoles?”

“Should I say nothing then?”

“You’re doing fine, Alle. Stay in that corner and keep your sublime face out of the light.”

A moment later, the guard pushed Brasus into the office and up against the wall. He was shaking so terribly Alle worried he might collapse into a heap on the floor.

“You may leave, guard.”

Gaius said nothing more. He sat there with his chin resting on his clasped hands, studying the man carefully until he finally growled, “Do you understand Latin?”

Brasus nodded, his eyes continually scanning the room like a frightened rat.

“Tell me your name and age.”

“Brasus, son of Mucapor. Thirty-one years old.”

“By Mars’ balls, you’re practically my age. Bit ripe in years for training, but enthusiasm and a taste for discipline might help you survive.”

Gaius again explained the terms of serving in the auxiliaries and the rewards for valor in combat and loyalty to Rome. But before Alle could finish his translation, Brasus shouted, “Fight for Rome? Are you mad?”

“Ah, you’ve had extra Latin lessons, haven’t you? Brasus, son of whatever ridiculous that name was?”

The guard popped his head into the room. “Everything all right, Commander?”

“Yes, yes—we’re fine. You’re dismissed. And close the damn door.”

Alle tried to slow his rapid breathing as the sentry’s footsteps faded down the corridor.

 Gaius stood up. “Listen to me, you wretched heathen dolt—this is your only chance to escape this prison and certain death. Would you prefer to perform in our arena instead? Ripped apart limb by limb as thousands applaud your suffering?”

Brasus squared his wobbly stance and snapped, “I will not fight for you, savage. Rome destroyed my country, slaughtered my people. I will never—”

“Then you die in the amphitheater,” Gaius replied and threw his hands into the air.

Allerix stepped out of the shadows and cried, “Brasus, be reasonable. He’s offering you life and freedom!”

 “Alexandros, return to your fucking position.” Gaius’s tone was unwavering and stern.

Blinking as if he’d seen a ghost, Brasus’s shock morphed into incredulous cackling. “Well, look who survived—Thiamarkos’ boy. The pretty little halfling with the talented mouth. What did this butcher just call you? Alexandros? Gods, you’re his slave, aren’t you?”

Instead of retreating, Alle took three more steps forward and pleaded in Dacian, “Yes, I’m a slave. Many of us were fucking enslaved, but you weren’t. And if you accept this offer, you don’t have to endure a humiliating death with no burial. You’ll cross to afterlife. Please, listen to Commander Fabius.”

Gaius retreated behind the desk and quietly observed them arguing. While Alle pleaded with his old friend, Brasus’s grin dissolved into a twisted, maniacal grimace. Defeat and imprisonment had muddled his mind. He’d gone insane.

“Listen to this redheaded demon? Have you forgotten what they’ve done?”

Alle scrubbed his face and countered, “The general is a good man, and they need fighters. You can have a new life.”

“A new life? Ah! I understand now. You’ve found your new life, haven’t you? Your true purpose. You’ve become what you always dreamed of being—a cock sucking catamite.”

With one solid punch, Alle knocked Brasus to the floor. “Get up. Get up and accept Commander Fabius’s generous offer, you shortsighted idiot.”

Brasus covered his nose and spat, “You always were a conniving, filthy whore, Allerix!”

From the shadows Gaius growled softly, “Enough.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Alle spotted the glint of a dagger blade in Gaius’s hand. As Allerix tried to help Brasus to his feet—the man he’d once idolized and had thought he loved—he squinted into the darkness. “Dominus?”

 “The offer’s been revoked, Alle. This barbarian has neither the correct temperament nor the requisite willingness to serve. And he’s fucking pissed me off. The Fates have decided.”

 “But, sir? Wait. What about the other plan? Please let me give him that dagger. Allow Brasus to take his own life before the beasts devour him. It’s his only opportunity for salvation.”

“Why should I give this prick anything, let alone bloody salvation?”

“Because you would earn my trust. And my gratitude.”

The room filled with silence, broken only by bursts of ragged breathing. The wait seemed endless.

Gaius pressed the handle of Alle’s dagger against his pursed lips, mulling the request over and replied, “That seems an equitable bargain. Here, give the blasted knife to the fool. I shall count to five.” Gaius touched the hilt of his short sword. “Understand that if he stalls, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

Allerix offered Brasus his gold handled dagger, the very same etched blade he’d given to his former friend for his birthday six years past. Gods, what a daft, lovesick boy Alle had been back then. Sniveling, Brasus pressed the point of the dagger against his own chest.

Lowering his head, Alle shut his eyes and recited the solemn prayer. “May almighty Zalmoxis, protector of all that is true and just, guide you on your noble journey, Brasus, son of Mucapor.”

“Farewell, Allerix,” Brasus whispered and then charged him, transforming into a violent mass of desperation and fury, eyes black with rage. He grabbed Alle by his tunic and held the knife to his throat. When Gaius rushed to intervene, pushing Alle out of the way, twisting Brasus by his wrist, the crazed man stabbed the Roman twice in the arm with the dagger.

Alle didn’t have time to think or speak. He reached with every bit of energy he had and pulled Gaius’s sword from its sheath. One powerful thrust of the steel blade into his raving comrade’s torso. Brasus cried out and slumped to the floor. As blood trickled down his broken nose and gushed from his gruesome chest wound, Brasus gasped, “ _Trădător._ ”

Allerix dropped the sword, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Farewell, Brasus, son of Mucapor. Gods, what have I done?”

“Fuck!”

Gaius wrapped his left hand around his bicep and squeezed; blood seeped through his fingers. Drops splattered on the floor by his feet.

“Stay still.” Alle untied the rose-scented fabric dangling around his neck and quickly tied the cloth around Gaius’s lacerations. When he looked into the Roman’s eyes, Gaius brushed away the tears from Alle’s face.

“Bastard stuck me! Are you all right?”

“I’m not hurt, Dominus.”

“I am sorry, _căţel_. I hadn’t anticipated that particular turn of events, and I should have.”

Allerix briefly glanced at Brasus’s dead body before exhaling. “He’s free now, and you need a doctor, sir. Those cuts are deep.”

“I’ve survived worse. First a fucking bandit’s arrow, and now this? I assure you I’m not usually injured this frequently.”

Alle couldn’t stop the soft chuckle that fell off his lips. “Perhaps I bring you bad luck, hmm?”

“I refuse to accept that, Allerix. In fact, I suspect you’re the most fortunate gift I’ve ever been given. Time for us go home. I need my physician to stich up these blasted wounds.” Gaius pressed his lips to Alle’s temple and then stepped back. He unclasped his burgundy mantle and wiped the blood from Alle’s face and hands before hollering, “Guards!”  
  
~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

 

**_The Quirinal Hill, Rome_ **

****

Bathed in cool shadows, busy shoppers packed the streets winding up to Theodorus’ shop. Max and Simon climbed the narrow road, weaving through the colorful crowds while men in formal dress hurried in the opposite direction, huffing and puffing towards the Old Forum in the valley below. Mornings in the capital bristled with noisy negotiations: clients requesting favors in the atriums of their patrons’ homes; whores bargaining over bits of brass in the smelly recesses of public porticoes; housewives attended by their slaves bartering with miserly cloth merchants, bakers, grocers, and fishmongers.

But later on, when the sun shone hottest, these streets would empty as the citizens of Rome finished the last of their business. Off everyone would go to enjoy the midday meal followed by a lazy nap. Perhaps an afternoon spent in the company of friends at the community baths or at the amphitheater.

Peaceful hours of leisure to satiate the proletariat.

More benefits of Emperor Trajan’s bloody victories on distant battlefields.

“You’re unusually quiet, pup.”

“I’m thinking.” Scooting around a cart of cabbages blocking the path, Simon added in a wistful tone, “About Bryaxis.”

“You and Bry have been spending most days stuck in an office together reviewing crates of documents. It’s no surprise you’ve grown close.”

Max fluffed the lad’s soft, brunet curls. Simon was still young and yet already so old.

“We’re not close. I fancy Bry, but he’s… I don’t know. Not ready? Never will be ready? We’ve played with each other some, but he’s just—well, I guess he’s just a friend. I wanted more.”

“I’ve known Bryaxis for nearly ten years. He’s a damn good friend to have.”

“Do you think he’s not interested in me because he lost his balls?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Max stopped in a small clearing between groups of shoppers and placed his hands on Simon’s shoulders, looking down into his bemused green eyes. “Bry lost his heart to Counselor Petronius a long time ago. His Dom was viciously murdered, and Bry is…”

Simon swallowed hard and nodded, finishing Max’s thought. “In love with a ghost.”

Max draped his arm over Simon’s shoulders and squeezed, pulling him back into the stream of pedestrians. “Hey, this morning’s supposed to be fucking fun, right? A lovely stroll through the city on a beautiful day to collect Dom’s new riding boots. We’re almost to Theo’s shop.”

“Why did you bring me along, sir?”

“Commander Fabius’s orders. Dom wants you better acquainted with your father considering those years you’d spent apart. I sent word yesterday to tell Theodorus you’d be accompanying me this morning.” Max puffed out his chest and adopted a comical posh voice. “Now that I’m officially a freedman with my own floppy cap and all, I can do that, you know. Send messages to my old friend across town. Without anyone’s permission, mind you.”

Simon said nothing. Not even a smile. He was lost in thought, pining for a man who would never love him back. Max knew in his heart that Bryaxis could never love Simon the way Simon deserved to be loved.

Bry was lost in his sorrow. Tragically and eternally devoted to his dead master.

Ten paces from the open door to Theo’s shop, Simon finally dropped his shoulders and let a weak chuckle escape his lips. The poor lad had grown increasingly sullen and snappy ever since that blasted Dacian had climbed into the Commander’s bed. Before the Dacian, Simon had been Dom’s favorite—and then he wasn’t. Max understood the pain better than most. Rejection hurt, especially the first time. And now Bry was rejecting Simon as well. Perhaps the pup would find some happiness if his father were back in his life.

Gods, Max hoped so. 

It certainly didn’t appear the Dacian was leaving anytime soon.

“Ah, there’s his place!” Max announced, squeezing Simon’s shoulder again.

Theodorus had installed a red canopy above his storefront to provide shade and entice new customers. The fabric looked expensive; the edges of the well-crafted canvas were decorated with yellow floral designs while in the center was an embroidered picture of a pair of overlapping sandals. Theo’s profits must have increased since the last time Max had visited his shop with Dom. That day of the private auction at Gnaeus Decius’s estate. The day the Dacian was dragged across that wooden stage, his feet covered in white chalk.

Max took a deep breath and bellowed from the threshold, “Theodorus!”

Theo rose from his workshop chair, his arms outstretched for a hug. “Max.” Theodorus smiled from ear to ear when he spied Simon lurking behind Max in the shadows. “And greetings to you, my dearest Simon. Welcome to my humble establishment.”

“Greeting, sir,” Simon mumbled as his wide eyes scanned the shelves and wooden tables crowded with merchandise. “By Minerva’s fanny! Did you make all of these shoes yourself?”

“He’s using men’s curses now?” Theo laughed and picked up a random pair of sandals. He fidgeted with the thin leather straps as he explained, “I had an apprentice—a slave boy younger than you—but he died from a fever last summer. By the cruel gods, that boy was talented. Such a waste. But yes, to answer your question. I learned to craft footwear at a young age.”

“But—but weren’t you Dom’s father’s bed warmer?”

“Yes, I was. And I grew old and my master died. He once advised it would be wise for me to have a valuable skill or two outside of his bedroom so I learned to fashion shoes. And clearly you’ve gained valuable skills as well. Max tells me Commander Fabius has promoted you to a scribe. Congratulations, Simon.” Theo approached his son but quickly stepped back as if Simon were a deer that would run off at the slightest hint of danger.

“Thank you, sir,” Simon answered with an awkward bow and a rumble of his empty stomach. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he lowered his eyes. “But I’ve no skill when it comes to mathematics. I’m fortunate that Dom’s hired a tutor for me.”

 Theo roared, his laughter choking his words. “I—I was bloody terrible at mathematics! But then I started earning my own coin and I grew to love numbers. So will you some day, Simon.”

“Listen to Theodorus. He’s a smart lad.”

“Lad? I’ve reached my fortieth year, Maximus.”

“And still so handsome. Beloved by the Fates, you are.” Max kissed his old friend on the cheek.

“You flatter me, Max.” Theo reached into a basket and held up a large brown sack tied shut with a cord. “Now, here are Commander Fabius’s bespoke boots. Since they’re parade boots rather than field gear, I combined three dyed leathers as well as swatches of leopard fur into the design. He should be pleased given his recent craving for exotic materials.”

Max opened the bag and peeked inside. “By Mercury, they’re gorgeous, Theo. Works of art.”

“Thank you, my friend. Listen, I know you can’t dawdle on the Quirinal all day, but before you two head back to the Caelian, let’s find a good meal for our peckish Simon. He might be swearing like a veteran codger, but he’s still a growing young man with a ravenous appetite. I’ve finished my morning’s work, and my friend up the road operates a marvelous, highly reputable snack shop. We’ll grab healthy servings of her divine fare and dine upstairs in my flat.”

“Brilliant suggestion, my dear Theodorus. What do you say, Simon?”

Simon nodded enthusiastically as he pressed his palm against his abdomen. “I’m starving, and I’ve never seen anyone’s apartment, sir.”

 With a low, hearty laugh, Max gestured to the open doorway. “Lead the way, Theo.”

After purchasing an assortment of delicious cheeses, sausages, bread, and pickled eggs at the upscale snack bar, the three walked back to the shoe shop and climbed the wooden stairs to Theo’s flat two floors above. He opened the lock with an iron key and pushed open the creaky door; the red façade of a brick building across the street dominated the view from a large window in the opposite wall. His modest but tidy living quarters had two rooms: a larger gathering lounge with a table, chairs, lamp stands, and two cupboards, while off to the right was a smaller bedroom separated from the main room by white woolen curtains suspended from hooks at the top of the door frame.

Theo’s home. The place where he could do whatever he wished as long as he didn’t break any laws. A cozy, private space where Theodorus decided who entered and who didn’t.

A freedman’s freedom.

And apparently, Max noticed, dear Theo brought his handicraft home; a set of bronze foot forms and a pair of half-finished sandals rested on a shelf in the larger of the two cupboards.

Simon strolled across the room and picked up one of the polished metal feet. “Whose big foot is this monster?”

“You don’t recognize those toes?” Theo chuckled as he carefully pulled the mold from Simon fingers and gently placed it back on the shelf. “That’s Commander Fabius’s right foot. And there’s his left. A few seasons ago, I had casts of his feet made so that I could craft spare boots and sandals for him while he was away on campaign. I sent three separate shipments of new shoes to Dacia during the first war.”

With an eyebrow raised, Max snickered. “He’s rather particular about his shoes, isn’t he?”

“Even when he was a boy, Commander Fabius had an unnatural obsession with footwear. Why do you think I apprenticed to be a cobbler, Max? Always plan for the future.” Theodorus tapped his head before depositing the bar food on the table. After all these years—all the hurt and heartache—Theo still had his peculiar, quirky sense of humor.

Simon ambled about the apartment, gingerly touching furniture and pulling back curtains. “You live here all by yourself?”

“Yes, I do. I pay rent to the landlord from my portion of the shop’s profits. I could afford a larger flat but this one suits my needs at the moment. I prefer to save my extra coin.” Theo nodded towards the bronze box on the lower shelf of the smaller wooden cupboard.

“Planning for the future again?” Simon laughed.

Theo winked playfully. “Always.”

Simon wondered, “Do you ever feel lonely here all by yourself?”

“Often, but not today. On this glorious day, my dear son and my old friend are visiting me. Have a seat, gentlemen. I’ll fetch cups and napkins. Oh, and I have a dear jug of Rhodian wine I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

Spread across the pine table, the midday meal was feast. Simon gobbled up bites from each bowl as Theo gazed at his son with bittersweet affection.

“How’s your mother, Simon?” Theo asked politely, though Max doubted Theodorus gave a rat’s arse about Callidora’s welfare.

“Don’t know. I never see her anymore. She’s living up at Domina’s lake estate in the hills with Zoe. I suppose she’s there to help with the baby.”

Theo turned to Max. “Baby? Whose baby?”

“Dom’s been spreading his seed about.” Max popped a slice of cheese into his mouth and grumbled, “The blonde slave girl is pregnant, as is our beloved Domina. There will be two babies soon. An heir and a bastard.”

“Gods.” Theo shook his head. “Reminds me of that sad situation with poor Castor.”

Simon paused his incessant chewing and jerked his head up from his food. “Castor? My brother? What do you mean?”

“Mind your manners, Simon. Theodorus is not only your father, but he’s also a freedman.”

“It’s all right, Max. Simon’s curiosity is natural. Castor is—or was—the bastard slave child of…”

“He’s not dead, sir. Castor’s just missing.”

“Right. Whatever the case, your half brother was sired by my first master, Quintus Fabius.”

Simon gasped. “By all the blessed gods! No one’s ever told me that. Do you know what this means? Castor is Dom’s brother as well.”

“No!” Max gulped down his grape and slammed the cup on the table. “Calli is a slave, so Castor’s a slave, no matter who fathered him. And whether he’s still a slave or has been gifted his freedom, Castor never was and can never be Commander Fabius’s brother.”

Simon murmured under his breath, “Well, if they both have the same…”

Max dropped his voice to a growl and slapped his palm against the table. “Do not mention any of this half-brother nonsense in Dom’s presence. Ever! Better yet, don’t bring it up at all.”

“My apologies, Maximus. I shouldn’t have said anything,” Theo mumbled before refilling the cups with the last of the Greek wine.

“I understand, Max. Not another word about it, sir.”

Simon twiddled with a piece of bread crust for a few moments before asking his father, “But what do you remember about Castor, sir?” The lad’s tone was so sweet and sincere that Max didn’t have the heart to reprimand him. Besides, Simon and Theo were actually talking.

Brushing back his greying fringe, Theodorus glanced at Max before he intertwined his fingers underneath his chin. With a heavy sigh, he explained, “Castor was an odd boy—different than other children. He rarely spoke, never looked people in the eye, and seemed easily distracted. But his demeanor was gentle, and kindness sparkled in his eyes. I adored him. Unfortunately, our Domina did not. We’d tried to keep him out of sight, but…”

“But she sold him anyway.” Simon paused and asked, “Max, will Domina sell Zoe’s baby?”

“No, Simon. Zoe and her baby belong to the Commander. He’ll decide what happens to the child if it survives. Now can we please discuss something besides babies?”

“Like what?” Simon grunted through the last of the crust he’d shoved in his mouth.

The noisy conversations from the pedestrians on the streets below Theo’s flat faded as the sun rose closer to midday. The clatter of business was replaced by the shrieks of gulls and the coos of pigeons roosting in the hollows between bricks of neighboring apartment buildings. The restless silence lasted an uncomfortably long time until Theo finally blurted out, “Did you see the divinely gorgeous Venus who runs that snack bar?”

“Yes, I did notice her. She’s quite attractive.”

“I’m fucking her.” Theo shoved an egg into his mouth and smirked as he chewed.  

“I _knew_ it, you randy dog!” Chuckling, Max raised his cup. “To Theodorus and his freedom to fuck whomever he manages to seduce!”

Theo licked his fingers and raised his cup. “To you both for entertaining this aged cobbler with your wonderful company!” His smile faded as his greenish-brown eyes took on a sincere, more serious color. “And to the man who bought me the shoe shop, referred my services to his posh associates, and secured contracts for me to supply his officers’ campaign and parade footwear. To the good fortune and health of our benevolent patron, Commander Fabius!”

Simon flashed a gentle grin and joined the toast. “To Dominus!”  
  


~~~~~


	6. Chapter 6

**_Gaius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome_ **

 

The autumn sun had already begun its afternoon descent when Allerix followed Gaius up the marble steps to the main entrance of his hilltop estate. At the far end of the low-lit foyer, the large audience hall was nearly deserted except for the steward sweeping the atrium’s pristine, colorful mosaic floors. Tasked with some errand involving shoes, Max and Simon had left early that same morning for the city center, and Bryaxis was nowhere in sight. The Caledonian must have resumed the tiresome job of scouring through his dead master’s documents in the small office he’d occupied ever since they’d arrived in Rome. Faint whiffs of spiced lamb, honey, and bread drifted through the air; Euphronia and her staff were already preparing the evening’s meal in the kitchens located in another wing of the house.

After Gaius ordered the steward to fetch his personal doctor, he led Alle through the maze of vaulted corridors until they reached his master suite. The ride back from the Praetorians’ fortress had been brutally slow. For the entire trip, Gaius had spewed curses as he gripped his injured arm, squeezing the flesh above his bicep to slow the blood seeping through the cloth hastily wrapped around his wounds. Lagging a short distance behind, Alle furiously kicked his plodding mule while trying to ignore the dagger-like glares from Gaius’s pack of suspicious attendants.

In Gaius’s luxurious private baths, they washed away the blood and the stench of the Guards’ prison without touching each other as if they were fellow soldiers rather than a master and his captive slave. Drying off beside gurgling fountains encrusted with small cubes of blue-green glass and gemstones, Allerix stole a quick glance at his auburn-haired companion. Despite the exhaustion and anger clouding his amber eyes, Gaius managed a weary half-smile as he rubbed a towel over his balls.

Clean and dressed in freshly laundered tunics, they sat on opposite sides of Gaius’s spacious bedroom, sipping cups of chilled water, waiting for the doctor’s imminent arrival. The spotted cat, Pyramus, poked its head in through the partially opened door but quickly moved on, padding down the hallway in search of better entertainment.

Soon Gaius’s guards ushered the old physician into the chamber. Archimedes babbled on and on about the healing properties of fig ointments as he stitched and re-bandaged Gaius’s gashed arm with a fresh strip of linen. 

Allerix glanced down at his own hands. He blinked and turned them over to inspect his palms.

Spotless.

All evidence of Brasus’s violent, sad death was gone, but the memory of his former friend’s blood dripping down his fingers would linger. 

Brasus. 

His boyhood hero. The unwitting star of Alle’s childish romantic fantasies. And then there’d been those awkward, unsatisfying trysts with Brasus in the woods… 

Gaius caught Alle’s eye and asked, “How are you faring over there,  _căţel_?”

Allerix cleared his throat. “Well, but still a bit shaken, sir.”

“Understandable. I hadn’t anticipated how disastrous our morning adventure would turn out to be. A senseless death and another fucking injury was not what I’d planned.”

“Not all of it was bad.” Alle leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “You spared the lives of three men, and Denzibalos is honorable, skilled warrior, sir. May I ask a question?”

“One moment, Alle.” Gaius lifted his finger and inquired, “Are you finished patching me up, Archigenes?”

“Yes, Commander.”

“When will you be traveling to my wife’s estate up in Aricia? I want you there for the birth of my child.”

“I’m scheduled to leave five days before the Kalends, Commander Fabius, a good month before your child is due to arrive.” Archigenes pulled out a square of white fabric from his bulging satchel. “I advise you to support that injured arm and refrain from exertion.”

Lips pursed, Gaius eyed the fabric with disdain. “You’ve been my personal physician for how many years? You know I have more battle scars than I do blasted freckles. I will not wear a fucking sling for a couple of superficial lacerations. If you’re done, you may leave.”

“As you wish, sir. The bandages should be changed every morning, and before each new dressing, have your slave apply my special fig paste directly to the sutures. Send word if you develop a fever or if the wound excretes a foul discharge. Farewell, Commander.” The elderly physician with the permanent scowl shoved the cloth sling into his leather bag and toddled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“If he'd mentioned that blasted fig paste one more fucking time…” Gaius winced as he pulled the sleeve of his tunic down over his bandaged upper arm. “Alle, listen to me carefully.”

“Dominus?”

“Many men visit my home, but only a fraction of my clients and associates are truly trustworthy. Fortunately, my coin secured old Archimedes’ dependable discretion years ago. But this is Rome, not Campania. In the capital, there are spies everywhere. Mind your tongue at all times, even when you’re convinced no one is listening.”

“My apologies, sir.”

“And, for shit’s sake, remember you’re supposed to be a common peasant, not a prince who vouches for the integrity and talents of his former comrade."

"I'll be more careful, sir."

"Good. Now, what was your question?”

“Why you did invite Denzibalos, a man who’s hated Rome for his entire life, to join your army and fight alongside your own soldiers?”

“It’s a risky bargain, but one we’ve made with many of our former enemies for over a hundred years. Our foreign units are some of the best-trained and best-equipped auxiliary forces on any battlefield.”

“Aren’t you concerned he’ll use his sword against you?”

Gaius shrugged. “There are traitors festering in every lot of foreign recruits, but over the years we’ve found our enlistment strategy to be a worthwhile gamble. Some men need a common purpose more than they need food, shelter, or even love. The Roman army offers capable fighters all those comforts and much more. Like marriage, military service can be a mutually beneficial arrangement. Do you understand now?”

Alle nodded. “Thank you for the explanation.”

“Thank _you_ , Allerix,” Gaius whispered, even though no one else was in the room.

“For what, sir?”

“For saving my damn life, of course.” Gaius laughed softly as he rose from his chair. “My idiotic wounds are minimal only because you were there to defend me. You killed your former lover to protect me.”

“Brasus was never my lover, sir,” Alle insisted and stood up. “When I saw the flash of the dagger’s blade and the blood, I had to stop him. He’d gone mad and lost all reason. I only regret I didn’t act before you were hurt.”

“Nonsense. You put my life before his. And before your own.”

Gaius lifted Alle’s left hand. When he pressed his warm lips against Allerix’s knuckles, the gravity and horror of Brasus’s gruesome death flashed before Alle’s eyes, draining the blood from his cheeks. His knees wobbled as nausea gripped and flipped his stomach. He grabbed onto Gaius’s shoulder to keep upright.

Gaius covered Alle’s hands with his own and squeezed lightly, concern simmering below the surface of his calm tone. “Are you unwell?”

Alle shook his head. “Just dizzy, sir.”

“Here, come sit.” Holding both of Alle’s trembling hands, Gaius guided him to the bed and sat down beside him. “I’m deeply grateful you were by my side this morning, Allerix. And because I’m a jealous prick, I confess I’m extremely pleased to know you were never intimate with...” 

Gaius brushed his thumb across Alle’s lips and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. “Let’s not talk anymore of prisons or Praetorians. What’s done is done. The Fates have decided. Gods, I’m fucking parched. Would you care for wine?”

Before Allerix had a chance to say yes, Gaius was up again, marching across the bedroom. Above the silver jug of wine on the serving table was a painted picture of two Cupids entwined in an embrace. Around they twirled, dancing together in silence for eternity on the frescoed wall. 

“A rare Italian harvest from our picturesque Umbrian hills,” Gaius explained as he filled two silver cups. Alle rose to accept the vessel of wine in Gaius’s outstretched hand. His legs were still weak, but his strength was gradually returning.

“To Fortuna, and to my fortuitous body guard!” Gaius raised his cup before downing a hefty gulp.

“You know much about wine, sir.” Allerix forced a grin before inhaling his entire cup. He sighed with relief as the smooth warmth rushed through his body, flushing the tips of his ears and the swells of his cheeks. Within moments, the queasiness was gone.

“The regions of our empire provide an exquisite array of Bacchus’ fortifying nectars. Do you like this local variety? Legend says it offers revitalizing powers.”

As the rich wine flowed to Alle’s weary limbs, Gaius’s raspy voice and hot, sparkling eyes stirred Allerix’s groin.

“Delicious, sir.” He licked his lips. “Is this wine tainted with drugs?”

“What? No, it’s not bloody tainted.” Gaius chuckled and made a point of slowly savoring another swallow. “Help me solve a dilemma,  _căţel_. How should I reward you for saving my life?”

Taken aback, Alle laughed. “A second cup of this refreshing wine, sir?”

“Now that’s recompense I’m happy to give.” Gaius took the empty cup from Alle’s fingers and strolled back over to the table. As he refilled both their cups, he mumbled, “Hmm? A suitable prize for saving a master’s life? What about…”

Gaius paused and placed the embossed silver pitcher on the table’s surface before turning round. After gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he exclaimed, “I know! How about you don’t call me ‘sir’ or ‘Dominus’ for the remainder of this afternoon. Let’s have you be in charge for a change.”

“Pardon? I—I’m in charge?”

“For now, yes,” Gaius replied, lifting his cup to his lips for a quick sip. His feline-like eyes glittered with lustful mischief. “Until I change my mind, you—Prince Allerix—are the master.”

“Is this another game?”

Stone-faced, Gaius answered, “No. It’s your reward. A reward I’ve never given to any lad before.”

“I can ask you to do anything?”

“Ask? No, no asking. Asking permission is a subordinate’s obligation. A master orders, a general commands. You may  _order_  me to do anything, except those acts not permitted by the laws of the Quirites.”

Allerix flexed and curled his fingers. His hands were still shaking worse than leaves in a windstorm. “I don’t know what those laws are.”

Leaning back against the ornate serving table, Gaius crossed his ankles and sighed. “Alas, there are many fucking rules. But considering our current circumstances, I believe only one of our ancient laws is in question. You may not…” Gaius made the crude fornication gesture with his fingers. “My arse, as fabulous and fuckable as it is. But not to worry. Like wines, a variety of pleasures are still possible. Go on. Give a command.”

“I-I…” Alle sputtered as his shoulders sagged.

Gaius raked his fingers through his crimson curls. After an exasperated snort, he playfully roared, “Gods, my sultry siren! Think. Act. Is there nothing you’ve wished me to do?”

The smile disappeared from Alle’s face. “I would command you to free me and provide me safe passage home, but there’s nothing left to return to, is there?”

Gaius stepped closer and swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Only Roman military forts and thousand of our legionaries. And soon the veterans will arrive to settle Emperor Trajan's colonies. As was the case with the regrettable events of this morning, the Fates decided the winners and losers. Those are divine decisions over which we mortals have no control."

“And besides,” Gaius continued. “I won’t obey that order. I’m too selfish to let you go. You’re part of my family now. You belong to me. Now what do you command?”

Alle nibbled his lower lip and finally blurted out, “Stop calling me  _căţel_. I’m not a darling, adorable puppy.”

“By Hercules! I thought  _căţel_  was much more derogatory for some reason. What a wonderful mistake. It’s affectionate?”

“ _Căţel_  is a term of fondness, something a loving parent might call a child. I’m not a child or a damn puppy.”

Gaius folded his arms and smiled, daring him with his eyes. “Then fucking take charge like a grown wolf, Allerix.”

Alle’s racing heart forced his feet to move. Desire made him amble towards the serving table. He took the full cup of wine from Gaius’s hand and returned to the foot of bed, excitement and apprehension prickling his skin. Thickening his tongue.

Against his will, a nervous giggle erupted from his throat.

“Why are you laughing?”

Gaius’s bemused scowl only caused Allerix to laugh harder. Finally he caught his breath long enough to explain, “I’ve never ordered anyone around, except my little sister.”

Shit.

He’d never admitted his pain out loud in front of anyone.

Alle took another sip of wine and shut his eyes.

He was a second son, a prince with no power. Shithead Tarbus had always been the favorite in their father’s eyes. His cruel half-brother, the vicious brute. The heir to their family’s scrawny, insignificant kingdom. Even if Dacia had won the wars against Rome, Alle would never have worn Thiamarkos’ crown. No matter how hard he fought, no matter how skillfully he wielded a blade, Allerix would always be the cocksucking deviant. A perverted princeling who fancied boys instead of girls. Unworthy of royal tattoos.

An affront to the gods.

“Wait! What did you just say?”

Gaius’s question knocked Alle out of his pitiful stupor. “Um, I don’t remember what…”

“By Aphrodite’s luscious tits. You have a younger sister?” Flashing his dimples, Gaius waggled his brows in jest.

Gorgeous, lecherous son of a bitch. 

Gaius took a step closer and growled, “Permit me to be the man who obeys your first command, Wolf Prince.”

Allerix inhaled deeply and, ignoring his terrified heart, jumped off the safety of familiar, solid ground.

“Strip off your garment.” The words fell from his quivering lips as a guarded whisper. “Slowly.”

Without a hint of protest or hesitation, Gaius unbuckled and tossed his leather belt onto the floor. He lifted his tunic past his hips, up his chiseled abdomen, and over his broad, hairless chest. For a moment his face disappeared behind the fabric until at last his red curls fell from the tunic’s collar, bouncing onto his shoulders. He stood there with his burly arms crossed, waiting, flaunting his battle-scarred, massive-balled, muscular glory.

Alle had jumped, and Gaius had caught him.

He’d trusted this man, his enemy—the thief stealing his heart. The man Allerix was destined to betray.

“Bring me your tunic.” Even to Alle’s own ears, his words sounded more confident.

Curiosity flickering in his wicked, narrow eyes, Gaius sauntered across the room and handed Alle the garment. Allerix folded the tunic lengthwise and then in half again until it was a near perfect square. Draping the fabric over his forearm, he inhaled a deep breath and asked, “Do you keep any of those sex rings here?”

Gaius scrunched his brow and tilted his head, until he grinned. “Ah! Cock rings, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I have several,” he crowed as if they were medals he’d won on the battlefield.

“Go fetch your favorite cock ring.”

Alle exhaled slowly, stunned at his own audacity, as he watched Gaius stroll to the cupboard stuffed with scrolls. Gaius lifted the hinged lid of a bronze box nestled amongst the books and studied its contents, casually shifting his weight from one foot to the other, contracting and then relaxing his bare, chiseled arse cheeks. 

With the back of his hand, Allerix wiped a dab of drool from the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, there you are,” Gaius announced triumphantly before carrying the bronze toy back to Alle.

Allerix turned the ring over in his palm, inspecting its sculpted details. “A lion’s mane?”

“Too predictable?”

Alle chuckled and handed the cock ring back. “Put it on.”

Gaius enthusiastically did as ordered, biting down on his lower lip as he manipulated his hardening prick and balls through the opening. Raising both arms out to the side to showcase his work, he blew out a breath and exclaimed, “Ah, yes! Gods, I haven’t worn this naughty bauble in far too long.”

Allerix carefully placed the square of folded fabric on the floor in front of his feet and pointed. “On your knees.”

“I see the commands are now sliding off your slippery tongue, my raven-haired faun.” Gaius snorted, his golden eyes dark with streaks of green and brown. He lowered himself to floor, brushing his fingertips down Alle’s body through his tunic as he knelt. Lifting the hem of Alle’s tented garment, he rolled back on his heels. “You’ve been blessed with gorgeous, delectable jewels, my dear Prince.”

Alle said nothing, only watched. Gaius leaned forward and teasingly flicked his tongue across the ridge of his vein. The sensation was too intense, too fast. Allerix closed his heavy eyelids halfway and tried to remember to breathe. He hadn’t had sex in over two months, not counting those times down in the workers' quarters when he’d pulled his prick for relief from the unbearable ache of loneliness. When Gaius swallowed him, he groaned, grabbing onto Gaius’s shoulders to steady his balance. 

Gaius parted his lips and looked up. “Have you ever climaxed while standing?”

“No.” Alle gulped. “I’m not sure…”

“Oh, you must give it try.” Gaius batted his dark auburn eyelashes. “May I offer a suggestion?”

Allerix could only nod.

“Here, hold this cup of wine. Hold it tight.” After Alle grasped the silver cup, Gaius held the square of fabric between his teeth and rose to his feet. With no warning other than a coy wink, he hoisted Alle up in his arms and carried him over to the colonnade by the balcony. When he set him down in front of one of columns, the cool marble pressed against Alle’s tunic-clad bum.

Gaius opened his mouth; the white cloth fell to the floor, obscuring the grotesque face of a lascivious satyr in the colorful mosaic floor panel between Alle’s feet. As Gaius dropped to his knees, he reassured Allerix, “Now you have sturdy shaft at your back to help keep you upright until these long, furry legs of yours falter. And they will.”

Alle shivered when Gaius brushed his hands up Allerix’s calves.

“What happens then?”

Gaius lifted Alle’s tunic, tucking the hem behind his belt, and kissed the inside of his left thigh. “I’ll catch you.”

“You will?”

“I promise.”

Allerix wiped the perspiration from his brow. “What’s the wine for?”

“For me, of course.  _My_  little reward for draining your beautiful balls exquisitely dry.”

Gaius shuffled forward and sucked the glistening head of Alle’s cock. When he engulfed his length down to the root, Allerix pressed his back against the column, holding onto the curved, hard stone with both hands until his knuckles turned bone pale. He groaned, obscenely loud and long, but Gaius didn’t seem bothered by his outburst. Instead, he smiled around Alle’s girth before squeezing his throbbing shaft with his cheeks—hard and then gentle and hard again—until Alle cried out, his full balls close to bursting vats of seed down Gaius’s throat.

“I’m—I’m going to fall,” Allerix whimpered as he tangled his fingers in Gaius’s soft, copper curls.

Gaius pulled his mouth off Alle’s raging erection and gently admonished, “Do not pull my hair.” 

“Shit.” Allerix jerked his hands out of Gaius’s mane, briefly snagging his pinky in a spiral curl. “But I can’t…” 

Gaius wrapped his arms around Alle’s thighs and clenched his bum cheeks, kneading his firm muscles with his strong fingers as he teased Alle’s cock slit with the tip of his tongue. “I won’t let you fall. Trust me. Surrender to me.”

 “I—I thought I was the master,” Allerix chuckled through a desperate, low moan.

Holding Alle firmly in place, Gaius nibbled at the sensitive skin in the hollow of his right hip. As patches of Alle’s alabaster skin bruised pink-purple, Gaius released his legs, and with one hand gripping Alle’s cock and the other fondling his testicles, he blew warm, lazy breaths over the patches of wet skin he’d nipped with his teeth. “My experience has been that the lad on his knees is always in charge.”

“Gods, yes! I’m—I’m going to…”

“Oh, no you’re not.” Gaius growled, clamping his fingers hard around the base of Alle’s throbbing knob. “Not yet. First, this.” 

Gaius took all of him down his throat in one swallow and hummed low and steady until the vibrations took hold of Alle’s entire body. The twinges of desire in Alle’s groin roared to unstoppable waves. He blasphemed every god he'd ever heard of as surge after surge of his cream exploded into Gaius’s hot, wet mouth.

Spent and delirious, Allerix collapsed and fell forward, headlong off another cliff.

Gaius caught him with his injured arm. After downing the hefty swallow of grape left in the cup, he carried Alle over his shoulder across the room and gently laid him down on the mattress. Above the bed, the ceiling swirled, images in stucco of naked warriors and lithesome, bare-breasted maidens flying overhead. Alle fought to catch his breath when the mattress dipped as Gaius settled down beside him.

The irresistible, smug bastard licked his lips and blew a kiss while stroking the length of his pulsing, collared cock. “I await your next command.”

Laughing, Allerix scrubbed his sweaty face, raking his fingernails through his short, dark scruff. “I need a fucking moment to recover.”

“Not easy being Almighty Zeus, is it?” Gaius teased, bumping Alle’s shoulder with his own.

Alle rolled over on his stomach, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Stop playing with your pecker and put your hands behind you head, Rufus.”

Gaius raised one eyebrow. “Rufus?”  

“Am I in charge?”

“Yes, for now.”

“Then for now, you’re Rufus.”

Gaius’s smirk faded to an annoyed pout. Nevertheless, he dutifully crossed his arms behind his head while Allerix rose to his feet and stripped off his crumpled tunic. Tossing the garment damp with his sweat and anxiety over Gaius’s face, he ordered, “Stay there, just like that. Don’t move. I need more wine.”

“Who knew you were such a bossy prat,” Gaius playfully grumbled. With every word, the fabric covering Gaius’s mouth fluttered up and down. “Clearly, I didn’t think this half-baked plan through well enough.”

Allerix turned his back to pour the wine when Gaius grunted, “I don’t like having my fucking face smothered like this, you know.”

“Can you breathe?”

“Barely.”

“You’re fine. Practice self-control, Rufus.” 

Gaius lifted the tunic and glared at Alle. “Cheeky swine.” He dropped the cloth back over his face, intertwining his fingers above his head.

When Allerix climbed back on the bed and poured a stream of wine over the length of Gaius’s ensnared shaft, Gaius gasped and pulled the cloth away from his face. 

“Self-control.” Wagging his pointer finger, Alle pressed his other palm against Gaius’s heaving chest, pushing him down as he straddled his hips. “The noblest of old Zeno’s virtues, remember?”

Gaius smiled and closed his eyes. “I remember. Victory is yours. Use me for your pleasure.”

Allerix bent down and slowly licked the wine off Gaius’s prick, engorged purple from the exquisite choke of the cock ring. “Keep your hands above your head, and do not touch me,” Alle snarled before rising up on his knees and settling his hole against Gaius’s slippery, spit-covered crown. He relaxed and lowered himself slowly. Taking Gaius’s length into his bum at his own pace. Teasing the sweet spot deep inside his arse with Gaius’s hard heat. Riding him. Owning him.

He arched his back when the first jolt of blinding pleasure raced up his spine. Guttural curses mixed with his ecstatic groans. Alle rested one of his hands on Gaius’s stomach, pressed his other hand against Gaius’s thick thigh to balance himself. 

Grinding. Riding. Losing himself in the bliss.

“I have a confession,” Gaius moaned softly between breaths.

“Tell me, Rufus.”

“I have—I have very little fucking self-control when it comes to you, cub.”

Bending his knees until his legs brushed against Alle’s lower back, Gaius wrapped one arm around Alle’s shoulders and pulled him down, caressing the back of Alle’s neck with his other hand. Gaius’s lips were soft but passionate, hungry but gentle. Allerix cried out, his sticky release spilling between their sweaty chests; Gaius grabbed onto Allerix’s hips and pounded him, howling as he emptied his balls into Alle’s bum.

Panting in unison, they collapsed onto the mattress, snickering as they traded fleeting, breathless kisses.

With a grunt, Gaius pulled the cock ring off his softening cock and over his empty balls, tossing it to the floor. 

“I need a fucking nap.” He sighed, squeezing Alle’s shoulders. “Care to join me?” 

“I would, but…” The words stuck in Alle’s throat; he couldn’t look Gaius in the eye, so instead he toyed with his nipple. “I have one more command.”

“And what is that, my Wolf Prince?” Gaius chuckled through a yawn.

“Do not lock me away in your underground slave prison ever again.”

Alle heard Gaius's lips part, felt his chest rise and fall as Gaius swallowed whatever quip sat perched on the tip of his sharp tongue. 

He said nothing for a while, mindlessly running his fingers through Alle’s clumps of disheveled hair, until Gaius pressed his cheek against Alle’s forehead and whispered, “Never again, Allerix. I promise.”

~~~~~


	7. Chapter 7

**_Tavern of Salvius Scrofa, Rome_ **

 

More packed than usual, even for a balmy late autumn evening, the building rattled with men’s unbridled laughter, obscene curses, and the constant banging and clanking of metal cups. Closing the heavy door to the street, he kept his head covered and studied the raucous crowd of veterans and a smattering of free men who earned their coin by supplying the army with everything from bread to blades. As a member of the imperial court and the emperor’s right hand man, he ought to avoid patronizing seedy drinking holes down by the Tiber’s warehouses. Yet hidden amidst all the cheating, whoring, and other unseemly vices, Gaius Fabius Rufus had learned long ago that truths could be found and loyalties forged in Rome’s dockside taverns.

Two days past, Lusius Quietus had sent word to the Caelian asking Gaius to meet him here tonight. Scanning the rabble crammed into the main room, he searched for the African general’s broad shoulders and unique braids. The low light from ceramic lamps at each table along with the fires glowing in the braziers cast dizzying shadows on the walls. Every face was partially shrouded in darkness, each man little more than a blurry silhouette.

“Where’s the Berber general?” he asked the nearest veteran, alone and slumped over a gaming table. Stinking of fish, vinegar, and grisly war stories, the bald amputee rubbed his ruddy face with his left hand. His only hand. A hand with three fingers and tiny stub where his thumb should have been. After a half-hearted attempt at a salute, the drunk tipped his chin towards the balcony above the bar.

“Alone?” Gaius asked.

Fucking daft question.

Gaius tossed a brass coin on the plastered sod’s table and climbed the wooden treads of the creaky staircase leading to the whores’ rooms upstairs. Without a word or warning, he shoved aside curtain after curtain. Girls squealed, men grunted. On his fourth try, he pushed the heavy drapes apart and found the dark-skinned commander of the emperor’s auxiliary cavalry duly occupied, just as he should have expected. With his fit, bare arse bobbing in the air, bouncing up and down.

He and that arse had fought two campaigns together; they’d celebrated triumphs together. The Berber’s cavalrymen had saved his men on several occasions, just as Gaius’s swords had saved Lusius’s auxiliaries. They’d both survived the Dacian Wars to fight and fuck another day.

Gaius slipped into the room, pulling the curtain closed behind him. The space was larger than most whores’ cells, the bed far more ornate and costly than a brothel’s concrete slab. Long, sun-bleached hair spilled over the side of its plump straw mattress. Her creamy-white legs were wrapped tightly around his lower back, her rosy lips parted in breathless ecstasy. She was beautiful, more beautiful than the prostitutes Lusius typically spent his bronze to pummel senseless.

When Gaius coughed into his fist to announce his presence, her huge eyes shot open but she said nothing. Only tapped Lusius’s bulging shoulder muscle. Gritting his teeth, Lusius glanced over without slowing his furious battery of thrusts. He pushed himself up on his palms and, between pants, hollered with a grin, “Gaius!”

“Greetings, Commander Quietus. It appears I’ve arrived too early.”

“Nonsense! You’re timing’s perfect. Give us a moment,” he murmured as he lifted the blonde up in his arms. After he’d settled back against the wall, Lusius pushed her legs apart and slowly lowered her down onto his impressive ebony cock. Closing her eyes, she arched her back and groaned, digging her manicured fingernails into his thighs. He pulled her forward in an embrace, kissing the top of her shoulder. “Come play with us, Gaius.”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, inviting him to the large bed with her long, thick eyelashes. A guttural sound somewhere between a whimper and a protest slipped through Gaius’s lips; she grabbed her perfect round arse cheeks and spread them apart, teasing him with her pink bum hole. And yet, despite her undeniable beauty, he felt no desire to touch her, let alone invade her lovely rump.

“Not today, sweetheart.”

“What?” Lusius snorted.

“I was speaking to the damn girl.”

“What’s wrong with you, Gaius? There was a time when you’d have jumped into bed to share a luscious Venus with me. Shit, you’d have fucking suggested it, Commander.” Lusius laughed against the pretty whore’s messy flaxen hair as he stroked her sleek ivory back.

His lips pressed together, Gaius replied, “Times have changed.”

As Gaius slowly back peddled towards the threshold, Lusius blurted out, “And apparently so have you, my old friend.”

Gaius paused.

Every damn thing about his life had changed since Decius’s auction. Since Alle had arrived. He smiled more often, sometimes so hard his cheeks hurt.

He was happier.

And he was fucking euphoric whenever he was with Allerix. Every moment the Dacian wasn’t by his side he thought about how or when or where he would next be with Alle. Holding him. Protecting him. Loving him. Love had never felt this serene. This simple.

With Lucius, whatever that had been, he’d felt unsettled. Their illicit affair was dangerous, awkward, and always confusing. Illegal.

But loving Alle was even more illegal.

His passion for his Wolf Prince was fucking treasonous.

He rubbed his temples to soothe a growing headache. A drink should help.

As the wanton blonde goddess gyrated her hips over Lusius’s crotch, Gaius pulled the curtains out of his path and barked, “I’ll be at a table in the back corner quenching my thirst. Do not make me wait long.”

“Order an ale for me, will you? Tell Scrofa I’m buying drinks for you and all the veterans downstairs.”

“How atypically generous of you, African.” Smirking, Gaius pointed and said to the girl, “My dear comrade’s purse appears to be bursting with coin tonight, darling. Charge extra for your delights.”

She flashed a mock pout and waved goodbye before slumping against Lusius’s sweaty chest.

Two drinks later, the Berber finally staggered down the stairs to hoots and hollers of gratitude for the free ale. Raising his fist in victory, he sidled up to Gaius’s table and pulled out a chair. As he sat he grabbed the cup of drink Gaius slid towards him and lifted it high. “To Aphrodite and all her wondrous curves and cavities!”

“To grain-growing Ceres and your bountiful bronze,” Gaius replied and swallowed a gulp. He narrowed his already narrow eyes and growled, “You kept me waiting, Berber.”

“Trust me, she was worth pissing you off.” Lusius winked. “Time would have flown by much faster if you’d joined us. But it seems your dear wife has you on a tight leash.”

 “My wife? Gaius scrunched his brow and chuckled. “Not to ruin your romantic delusions of marriage, but my dear wife doesn’t give a damn what I fuck as long as I leave her alone.”

Lusius shook his head and downed half his cup. He belched and said, “That’s rather sad, but at least you’d bedded her often enough to plant your seed and produce an heir. You’ve achieved immortality, Commander Fabius.” An uncharacteristic veil of sadness washed over Lusius’s face. “Gods, I don’t want to die alone. I need a damn wife, Gaius.”

“I thought you had a wife in Volubilis, no?”

“A betrothed, not a proper wife. I received word that she died while I was away fighting in the last Dacian campaign. Sweet, pretty little sparrow, but too fragile and thin. Never would have survived childbirth. To the cruel Fates! Fuck the bitches!”

Lusius was at his worst when he became regretful and maudlin. Thankfully, his descents into mawkish whining were rare and always involved too much drink and sex.

“To my impious comrade. May blessed Fortuna protect your blasphemous balls! Ah, speaking of uxorious chaps, look who’s been let out to play with us rascals tonight.” Gaius nodded toward the bar counter before emptying his cup. “I’d invited him to join us for an ale. Seems our lovely but prudish Antonia obliged me. Titus Petronius!” Gaius hollered as he stood, waving his former Tribune over to their secluded table. “Scrofa, pour another round of drink! Commander Lusius is paying!”

“I’d better escape Rome before I’m bloody broke,” Lusius grumbled before inhaling the last of his ale.

A shaggy tavern slave carrying a tray of full cups toddled behind Titus Petronius as he pushed through the crowd.

“Greetings, Commanders Quietus and Fabius.”

Gaius gestured for Titus to drag over a chair. “Greetings, Governor Petronius.”

Lusius gasped. “Governor?”

“Ah, yes—you haven’t heard. After the last war, the Conscript Elders promoted our esteemed Tribune—former Tribune—to serve as the chief administrator of Greece. With Emperor Trajan’s blessing, of course. When do you return to Athens, Titus?” Gaius asked.

“Not anytime soon. I am governor no more, I’m afraid. The Senate relieved me of my lucrative position just yesterday. I’m to remain in Rome and help prepare for the next campaign.”

Gaius rubbed Titus’s arm. “My condolences, Titus.”

Titus shrugged. “Antonia despised Achaea. She’s relieved to be home.”

Lusius snatched a full cup of ale. “To your wife’s eternal happiness, Petronius! A content life requires a content wife.”

“Thank you, sir.” Titus snickered. “Are you in the capital long? Antonia and I would like to host a dinner party in your honor.”

“That’s most kind of you, Petronius, but I’m here in Rome only for a few more days. Then it’s back home to Mauritania for a short spell. I expect I’ll be receiving my orders before year’s end.”

Gaius leaned back in his chair. “Any notion where you’ll be stationed?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, Commander Fabius.” Lusius bumped Gaius’s leg with his own. “Egypt, I imagine. Some poor bastard has to manage the new crop of auxiliaries. Either of you care to wager on how many hairy barbarian recruits will perish during desert training this time?”

Titus laughed, and Lusius added, “Speaking of savage mongrels, did you find any worthwhile Dacians in the Praetorians’ prison, Gaius?”

“Three experienced horsemen, or so they claimed. They’ll be waiting for you in Egypt.”

Titus leaned in and lowered his voice. “Rumor is you ran into a scuffle at the camps, Commander Fabius.”

Nodding, Gaius wrapped his hand around the cloak’s fabric covering his bandaged injury. “A Dacian captive poked me in the arm with a dagger. Minor lacerations, nothing more.”

“And the Dacian?” Lusius wondered.

“Dead.”

Crossing his arms, Gaius closed his eyes. He’d thought he would feel happy—no, fucking ecstatic—after Allerix’s fellatio companion had been eliminated. Instead, he felt an uncomfortable twinge of something else. Relief? Grief? Whatever it was, it unnerved him.

A piercing wail startled him out of his reverie.

“Lusius! Return to me, my desert stallion!” the blonde whore beckoned from the balcony.

“At least she didn’t call you a camel, Commander,” Titus teased as Lusius sheepishly wiggled his fingers at her.

While the men crowding the main room laughed and pointed, she continued, “I’m empty and lonely, Lusius. Allow me to worship your noble spear again!” Her sultry voice was as enchanting as her firm, delectable tits on display for the entire tavern to admire.

One brow arched, Gaius turned to his friend. “It’s possible you may have found your wife at last.”

Lusius guffawed before replying to Gaius, “By Venus, perhaps you’re right. Her stamina is impossible to resist. Into the bitch I go again. Wish me good fortune, gentlemen.”

“To your equine penis!” Gaius raised his cup, quickly joined by Titus. “May your Berber knob remain attached and uninjured.”

“Prick,” Lusius scoffed before tossing his empty cup to Titus and clambering back up the wooden stairs.

After the ruckus had settled, Gaius scooted his chair closer to Titus. “Any news on Luc’s financial ledgers?”

“Decius claims two agents from the palace visited him shortly after my brother’s will was unsealed and read before the populace in the Julian Basilica. They demanded he supply them with all copies of Lucius’s personal papers. Of course, the twat handed them over without question or resistance. And he doesn’t recall the agents’ names. Useless piece of shit.”

“Palace agents? Luc’s records are _my_ damn property.” Gaius inhaled sharply as he scratched his scalp. “Now I’ll have to deal with Plotina and her vipers. Fuck. Anything else?”

“Here’s news that might cheer you up, sir. Our rogue scout currently lives in Rome on the Aventine, or at least he did a month ago. First floor of a residential building on the road to Diana’s shrine, above a goldsmith’s shop.”

“I know that shop. Good work, Titus.”

Titus fidgeted with the travel satchel looped over his shoulder. “There’s one more thing, Commander. My steward discovered an item at the bottom of one of the wells in Lucius’s gardens. I’m not sure what to do with it.”

Clearly uneasy and agitated, Titus retrieved a small canvas sack from his bag. When he dropped it on the wooden table, the object inside pinged as if made of metal. “Have a look, sir.”

Gaius loosened the string holding the sack closed and peered inside. He squinted as he pulled out the object, turning it over in his hand. “A gold bracelet?”

“There’s an inscription.”

Gaius brought the jewelry closer to his nose.

 

TO MY DEAREST BRENDAN. I LOVE YOU MOST OF ALL. FOREVER. LUCIUS.

 

Shit.

Most of all? Forever?

Those words would have shattered Gaius’s younger heart. But Luc didn’t own his heart any more.

Allerix owned him.

“Who the fuck is Brendan?” Gaius tilted his head, his bemused brows drawn together.

“Bryaxis. Brendan was his birth name.”

Gaius gnawed on his lower lip. The gold felt warm. Loved. “How did this valuable piece of jewelry wind up at the bottom of a damn cistern? Never mind—don’t answer that.” Gaius blew out a long, dazed breath. “Aurelia.”

As Gaius studied the simple lettering again, Titus exclaimed, “I don’t know what to do with it, sir. I certainly can’t offer it to my wife, not with that inscription. I suppose I could sell it or have it melted down for the gold, but…”

“You inherited Luc’s house. This is yours to do with as you wish, unless you allow me to hold onto this sentimental bauble. I promise to safeguard it should you change your mind.”

Titus held out his open palms. “Please keep it. I won’t change my mind, and I’ve no use for it.”

“Thank you, Titus.” Gaius shoved Bryaxis’ gold band into the purse attached to his belt. “Shall we enjoy one final drink before we head back to our homes? Gods, I’ve had my share of this shitty ale, haven’t you?”

Titus smiled. His light blue eyes, brimming with relief and admiration, crinkled at the corners. He raised his pointer finger and shouted, “Scrofa! Fetch Commander Fabius some blasted wine! Your best grape!”

 

~~~~~


	8. Chapter 8

**_The Imperial Residence on the Palatine Hill, Rome  
_ **

“Don’t speak unless given permission, and do not wander off,” Fabius barked without turning around. The looping folds of his purple-striped toga traced the curves of his back, hips, and thighs. Bryaxis remained three steps behind as they marched down another lavish corridor. Through the opened doors to rooms here and there, Bry caught glimpses of gilded couches, silver lamps, and carved, gem-covered vaulted ceilings.

There’d been no warning when he'd gone to sleep last night that he’d be walking across the colorful floors of emperor’s palace today. The sun hadn’t yet cleared the morning horizon when Fabius barged into the lads’ quarters and ordered Bry to prepare to accompany him to the palace. And to bring a satchel. A fucking satchel, actually. After scrambling to dress, Bry rushed out of Fabius’s house with only a crust of yesterday’s bread and a few gulps of water sloshing in his stomach.

They turned another corner and marched through the disorienting maze of rooms nestled between the public and more private areas of the imperial residence. Slowly, a familiar set of bronze doors glistened at the end of the lamp lit hallway. After Bry readjusted his dull but laundered tan tunic and calmed the misbehaving hairs on his head with his fingers, he took a deep breath and followed Fabius up the three broad marble steps leading to the archive rooms. A stout guard stationed outside nodded slowly, before opening one of the massive doors and stepping aside.

The narrow vestibule opened onto a spacious reception hall. Behind a large oak desk, its surface nearly obscured by piles of scrolls and scraps of papyrus, a tiny old man squeaked, “Greetings, Commander Fabius. It’s been ages since you’ve visited the Emperor’s archives.”

Shit. Bry remembered this peculiar but pleasant fellow from when he and Lucius had consulted these archives. Bryaxis squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the archive magistrate’s name.

“Greetings to you, Sextus Pollio.” Fabius fiddled with the folds of heavy wool draped over his left arm before reaching across the desk to shake the elderly man’s hand. “I’m delighted to see you are still with us. You received my letter, yes?”

“The gods have permitted this aged fool to survive another day to relish the honor of welcoming the Lion of the Lucky Fourth to our precious depository. When your correspondence arrived, I took the liberty to make preparations in anticipation of your visit, sir.” With pained grunts and noisy bones, Pollio pushed himself to his feet and pointed to a hallway off to the side. “All imperial records of the the cases managed by Lucius Petronius Celsus have been arranged on a table in the study room. I do hope you find whatever you’re looking for, Commander.”

“May wise Minerva guide me, Pollio.”

On their way to the reading room, he and Fabius passed rows of tall storage cupboards soaring from the mosaic floors to the gilded ceiling. The rolled ends of thousands of papyrus scrolls carefully arranged one atop the other in slanted compartments created a mesmerizing pattern of shadow-filled circles. When Bryaxis paused to admire the majestic collection, Fabius walked up beside him, hands on his hips, and commented, “Each one of these black circles is a book, a register, or a long-forgotten letter. The ghostly eyes of the past seem to be daring us to pluck one from the pile and unfurl its mysteries, don’t they? Even I don’t know what truths and lies are hidden inside most of these scrolls.”

“Dominus dreaded visiting these archives. He thought this place was haunted.”

As soon as the uninvited blabbering spilled from his mouth, Bry winced. But instead of striking him for speaking without permission, Fabius shook his head and chuckled. “Every room in the palace is haunted by some angry spirit or— _thing_. Bloody fucking ironic that our dear Counselor was scared of ghosts, though.”

“Sir, may I ask a question?”

Fabius nodded once. “What is it?”

“What is your purpose here, sir?” Bry whispered.

Fabius leaned in to mumble into his ear. “Birdman Decius claims that palace agents took possession of Lucius Petronius’s financial ledgers. Perhaps his personal records have been stored alongside his old legal cases.” He shrugged and glanced in the direction of Pollio’s office before adding, “And I just may find that third scroll from the imperial ledgers that our dear Counselor was reviewing as part of his embezzlement investigation.”

“The duplicate with the odd Greek abbreviation, sir?”

Crossing his arms, Fabius peered over Bry’s shoulder into the reading room. “When was the last time Counselor Petronius visited these archives?”

Bry stared down at the floor until the memory surfaced. “A month or so before his murder. I remember that trip well because Dom went alone. Without me, Commander.”

After a few unblinking moments, Fabius finally asked, “Was that unusual?”

“Most unusual, sir.”

 “Interesting.”

The large, rectangular table in the center of the intimate reading room was lit by bright beams of sunshine streaming down from the spaces between the columns supporting the rotunda above. Around the perimeter of the circular study space gilded busts of past emperors who were now gods glimmered from their white marble perches: Augustus with his unblemished, serene fortitude; Claudius in all his scowling, insecure sobriety; and the only two members of Rome’s previous ruling family still revered, the elderly soldier Vespasian and his beloved first son, Titus— what a damn unlucky sod he’d been. A new, purple-veined marble support pillar stood before the largest alcove, waiting patiently for its sculpture. A portrait celebrating Emperor Trajan’s heavy brows and cap of short hair would one day join this silent statue gathering. Lucius had been confidant that the Emperor would transform into a god after his death. The wagons of Dacian gold Emperor Trajan had brought back to Rome in triumph had guaranteed his divine immortality.

“You sort through these,” Fabius barked as he pushed a stack of scrolls across the table, “while I go hunting for the third duplicate palace ledger.”

“Sir?”

“The ledgers are stored elsewhere. And I happen to know where. Start working, and if old Pollio comes hobbling in, inform him I’ve gone to the latrine. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

After Fabius disappeared down another hallway, Bry swallowed and unwound a scroll near the top of the messy heap. But instead of Lucius’s handsome handwriting, he found stiff, dull letters scratched by some nameless scribe. A transcript of an old trial Bryaxis barely recalled. He hadn’t yet reached twenty-years when he’d assisted Lucius with this court assignment. Still distracted by the thrilling, terrifying tingle of his intensifying love for Lucius.

What a daft, infatuated boy he’d been. Watching Lucius move about his office, reaching for a document on a high shelf, scratching his temple whenever he was deep in study. Trying to make him laugh. To make him proud. Dreaming that his Dominus cared about him. Loved him. And then discovering that Lucius was completely fucking besotted with him.

How had Bry survived so many months without him?

But a part of Lucius was here.

Bry unwound the papyrus as quickly as he could manage without tearing it until…

There.

Lucius’s oak leaf insignia pressed into wax. And his name—L Petronius Celsus—written by his own hand. When Bry lightly traced his fingers over Lucius’s signature, a scattering of ink flakes clung to his fingertips like ash. Fleeting kisses from the past.

Footsteps on the polished marble floors echoed from corridor that Fabius had taken. They grew louder. Laughter—two men—not enough boots to cause that rumble of footsteps. And then a cough. Low and thick with phlegm.

Bryaxis rearranged the scrolls into a neater pile before folding his hands behind his back.

Clad in a long, Tyrian-purple tunic embroidered with gold thread and cinched at the waist with a silver crusted leather belt, the Emperor charged into the study room, his hand resting on Fabius’s forearm. Close behind, his nubile steward, Phaedimus hurried after his master, followed by two Praetorians in full armor who waited at the threshold. Despite his broad grin, suspicion sparkled in the Emperor’s deep-set, brown eyes. “Now tell me again, Gaius—what are you looking for in our archives? More research for your war stories?”

Fabius’s dimpled, resentful smile didn’t falter. He stood tall, his jaw set and his eyes focused. With a slight nod and a steady voice, he said, “I’m searching for lists of the holdings and expenditures for the estate of Lucius Petronius Celsus. His ledgers were recently relocated from his procurator’s office, my esteemed Emperor.”

Emperor Trajan stepped back, cocking his head. “And why, by thunderous Jove, are you wading through my archives in search of Counselor Petronius’s personal accounts?”

“I was informed that the men who took custody of his financial registers identified themselves as palace agents, sir.”

 “Not possible.” The Emperor’s flash of confusion drooped to an annoyed frown. “I gave no such bloody order, and I certainly have no need for Petronius’s personal papers. Look, there—his legal filings already consume over two storage racks. Didn’t he bequeath the contents of his library and office to you, Gaius?”

“He did, sir. And I’ve discovered several of his original domestic tallies are missing. I had intended to replace the lost records with the copies held in trust by his procurator, my noble Emperor.”

“And who is… _was_ his procurator, Commander Fabius?”

“Gnaeus Decius, sir.”

“Oh, gods. That sweaty, sycophantic ornithophile up on Quirinal? What a tiresome bore.” The Emperor rubbed his brow before reaching down to cup his favorite’s clean-shaven chin. In a softened tone, he asked, “Would you discover who is responsible for those fucking orders, my dear Phaedimus?”

Phaedimus leaned into his touch. “Immediately, my esteemed Caesar.”

When the Emperor gaze travelled across the reading table and lingered on him, Bryaxis shuffled his feet and lowered his chin until it nearly touched his tunic collar.

“This lad looks familiar. Who is he?”

“Lucius Petronius’s former legal secretary and concubine, my noble Emperor. I inherited him as well.”

“Lift you face, slave.”

Bry swallowed, praying the old fart didn’t remember the party from years ago, and did as ordered.

“Ah, I remember this one. Lost most of its youthful shine, hasn't it? But it still has a mouth too talented to forget.”

“Bryaxis is also a well-trained and sharp secretary, sir. He’s been a valued addition to my family.”

The Emperor threw his head back and laughed. “You—you are a most fortunate man, Commander Fabius!”

Fabius flashed an annoyed grin. When he adjusted his cumbersome toga, what looked like the edge of a scroll momentarily slipped out from the folds over his arm until he shoved it back in.

Fabius had found Lucius’s duplicate of the palace ledger. Bry managed to prevent his lips from curling up in relief.

The Emperor shoved aside a few of the legal records and perched part of his royal bum on the edge of the desk with his back to Bry. Bryaxis finally exhaled.

“And rumor is, my dear Gaius, that you’ve also added a Dacian boy to your stable of playthings.”

No joviality in those words.

Silence, as Fabius waited to hear what the Emperor would utter next. Biding his time. His right fist clenched

“Your grandmother tells me this barbarian of yours has a remarkable talent for song. And our dear Pliny reported a Dacian lad performed during your recent dinner party here in Rome—the gathering to which I was not invited.”

Fabius grit his teeth before garbling, “Yes, sir.”

“And would it be correct of me to assume this Orpheus is nothing more than a wretched Dacian peasant with no royal markings, Commander?”

“You are correct, my esteemed Emperor.”

Alexandros? He’d never seemed a peasant to Bry. Too educated. Too civilized. Where _had_ the Dacian come from? Bry would pester Max for more details when they found some rare time alone.

“I do prefer to be correct. You know in all my years, I’ve never heard a Dacian sing. You’ll bring your heathen Calliope to perform at my welcoming party for our dear old friend, Dio. After his long trip, I’m sure our Bithynian orator would enjoy a dulcet serenade.”  

“Yes, sir,” Fabius managed to spit out. His fingers were trembling.

“Greetings, my esteemed Emperor,” a man bellowed while racing across the now sun-drenched room, a bundle of scrolls tied with white cord swinging back and forth from his pudgy hand. The palace favorite, Phaedimus, was two steps behind him. The unfamiliar Roman stopped and bowed. “And greetings to you as well, Commander Fabius.”

“Greetings, Attianus.” Fabius replied coldly as the Emperor stood to pat the man on the shoulder.

“What have we there, friend?”

The man named Attianus ducked his head and faced Fabius. “Commander Fabius—I must apologize. Our dear Phaedimus tells me that two of my agents inadvertently took possession of Counselor Petronius’s domestic financials. That was not the orders they were given, and they will be punished severely for inconveniencing you.” He stuck out his hand, a scowl darkening his strangely lopsided face. “Here are the records you seek.”

“And what _were_ the agents’ orders, Attianus?” Fabius snarled before snatching the scroll bundle.

“They were instructed to retrieve any copies of official documents related to palace business.”

“Including financial records concerning the imperial treasury?”

“Yes, but the men did not inspect the scrolls to verify the contents. I suspect our Decius wished to please the court at all costs and foolishly handed over Petronius’s personal documents as a substitute offering.”

Fabius laughed but there was no humor in his tense smirk. “I'll grant you our eager Gnaeus Decius could very well have made such an idiotic gesture. My gratitude to you for returning my property to me.”

Rather than shake Attianus’s offered hand, Fabius strolled to Bry and handed him the tied scrolls. With an arched brow, he murmured, “Put these in the satchel for our return to the Caelian. They are the only copies remaining, so use caution.”

Bryaxis glanced at the bundle. One scroll had been shoved into another. Its light cream color stood out against the darker beige papyrus scrolls surrounding it.

By Hercules, the red-headed bastard had managed to slip the duplicate scroll into the cord-bound bundle. Bry pushed the package into the satchel as quickly as he could, careful to not let the heftier ledger fall out from the bunch and drop to the floor.

“You’re not returning to the Caelian until after we share midday refreshments, Commander Fabius,” the Emperor insisted, wrapping an arm around Fabius’s shoulders and steering him towards the exit.

“Bryaxis, return to the Caelian without me. Have the scribes prepare copies of those records for Titus Petronius.”

“Why…?” The Emperor’s befuddled expression melted away. “Ah, yes! Our dear Titus Petronius inherited the Petronii estate. Did you know the Senate relieved him of his governorship, Gaius? Of course, I insisted they do so. I need officers here in Rome to help me strategize our next glorious adventure.”

“And here we are, sir.”

After they crossed the threshold, Fabius looked back over his shoulder and tipped his chin, a silent command to depart immediately. And gods, Bryaxis was thrilled to leave this place. He tossed the satchel’s strap over his shoulder and held his precious cargo tightly as he trotted off. Ghosts or no ghosts, Lucius had been right. These halls were haunted, plagued by generations of false smiles, schemes, and lies.    
  
~~~~~


	9. Chapter 9

**_Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome_ **

****

“Greetings, Dominus. You summoned me, sir?”

“My dear Alexandros. By fucking swift-footed Mercury, that was bloody quick. I wasn’t expecting you to appear before me so soon.”

The unguarded affection in Gaius’s smooth voice soothed Allerix’s nerves. That balding slave whose name Allerix didn’t know had ordered him to bathe and report to Gaius’s private suite. After a thorough wash, here he was, dressed in a fresh blue tunic, staring at Gaius’s back, watching Gaius gaze at his reflection in a mirror. Gaius fiddled and fussed with his over-sized, unbelted tunic but he didn’t turn around.  
  
“Should I come back later, sir?”  
  
“No, no. Sit in that chair by the door while I finish preparing for our adventure, Alle.”  
  
Next to Gaius stood the dancing whore named Delia. She dipped her fingers into small, round metal containers resting on the table before gently patting his cheeks and lips with her fingertips. For the briefest of moments, she offered Alle a friendly smile before returning her full attention to Gaius. When he lifted his hand and nodded, she gathered up his crimson curls and tied his hair into a loose knot atop his head with a strip of leather. A couple of corkscrew curls fell free, resting on his shoulders. A twinge of jealousy stung his heart when he imagined his fingers running through Gaius’s soft, brilliant auburn locks.  
  
“My I ask a question, Dominus?”  
  
“You may.”  
  
“What sort of adventure do you have planned, sir? More soldiers’ camps?”  
  
“No. No more blasted Praetorians. I want to share something fun with you. Something entertaining. One of my peacetime diversions.”  
  
Allerix remained quiet, craning his neck in hopes of catching another glimpse of Gaius in the dark bronze mirror.  
  
“The Emperor is sponsoring spectacles this afternoon in the great circus. Have you ever witnessed chariots racing down a track, Alle?”  
  
“Yes, sir. I’ve driven chariots in races for sport.”  
  
“Have you, then?” Gaius’s silky reply caressed Alle’s ears.  
  
“Not in an official race, sir, but through the fields before the grasses grew too high. I used to race my friend. He always won.” Allerix let out a wistful chuckle. He fucking missed Gorgas. They’d survived all those terrible years of taunting and abuse not to mention the wars only to be captured, raped, and shipped off to the enemy’s capital city to live and die as slaves.  
  
Gaius was right.  
  
The gods could be cruel, sadistic fuckers.  
  
Gaius gestured for Delia to lower her head so he could whisper in her ear. When he finished saying whatever he’d said, he lifted a cup of wine to his lips. With his hair knotted high and those curls dangling on his broad shoulders, he resembled the bronze statue of a young Dionysus that stood on a pedestal in the mansion’s courtyard terrace.  Gaius swallowed a gulp of grape and dismissed the girl with a flick of his fingers. After Delia shuffled out of the chamber through the second, smaller door leading to his private bath suite, Gaius asked, “Was your race competitor that mad Brasus fellow who perished in the Praetorians’ prison?”  
  
“No, Dominus. My friend’s name was Gorgas. He was a far better horseman than me.”  
  
“Better than you? Did he perish in the last war?”  
  
“No, sir. We were captured together. He may be dead now. They separated us once we arrived in Rome, and I’ve no idea what happened to him.”  
  
“Is he also a Dacian royal?”  
  
“No, sir. Gorgas’s father was our court’s chief blacksmith. He died during the first war, so my father brought Gorgas into our home for protection, tutoring, and to serve as my companion. He was a smart lad with a good heart and loyal, dear friend, Dominus.”  
  
After a few moments, Gaius responded softly, “I see.”  
  
Why wouldn’t the bastard turn around and look at him?  
  
“Are you still seated, Alle?”  
  
Why did his voice have that teasing lilt to it? What game was _this_?  
  
“I am, sir.”  
  
“Yesterday while you and Simon were occupied with your Greek lessons, I visited the palace archives. I managed to secure documents I’d been searching for but not without first enduring a bit of impromptu banter with our esteemed Emperor. It seems our noble ruler has been informed that I own a Dacian lad with a mellifluous singing voice. He demanded you perform at one of his fucking dinner parties.”  
  
“At the palace?”  
  
Gaius savored another slow sip of wine. Lamplight bounced off the polished silver cup, its reflection flashing bright in the mirror. “I should have done more to prevent this predicament. Neither my grandmother nor our dear Pliny knows when to keep their mouths shut. A pair of cackling hens, the both of them. And worse—I fucking knew their shared love for gossip, and yet I put you—us—in jeopardy. I was damn sloppy.”  
  
“I don’t understand. How are we in danger, sir."  
  
Gaius dropped his voice. “Emperor Trajan now knows you exist. I had hoped to keep that information confined to my household for a while longer.”  
  
“But you own hundreds of slaves, and I’m nothing more than a wretched barbarian peasant, sir. Wouldn’t it be a great honor for you if your heathen Dacian boy were to sing well during a command performance at the palace?”  
  
Gaius grunted a reluctant affirmative but still he didn’t turn around.  
  
After studying the room to be sure they were truly alone, Allerix scooted his chair forward and whispered, “I bear no royal tattoos, and there’s no record of my capture because we burned it in the fire on your beach. Other than you, Dominus, everyone who knew or knows my birth name is either dead or hiding in the Carpathian mountains.”  
  
“Apparently not everyone.”  
  
“Dominus?”  
  
Gaius sighed, waving his hand through the air. “An unpleasant task for another day.”  
  
Allerix swallowed. What if Gorgas was still alive? Had Alle’s loose tongue just put his friend’s life in danger?  
  
“But you are correct. Considering the circumstances, the risk is minimal. And that is why today we are going to spend a leisurely afternoon at the races. Of course, I have no fucking intention of tempting the Fates by sitting in the imperial box and being forced to listen to Marcus and my Greekling brother prattle on and on while they ogle you. I have a different plan. On this glorious day, I shall be the performer for our date at the circus.”  
  


Gaius finally turned around on his stool, all the while smiling with his burly arms crossed and his defiant dimples deep. The sight took Alle’s breath away. He inhaled sharply and covered his mouth before a bewildered gasp escaped.  
  


“By all the spirits of the forests,” Alle finally managed to spit out, unable to tear his gaze away from Gaius’s face.  
  
“Am I so beautiful that you have no words save exclamations to the gods of the groves?” Gaius’s smile broadened before he laughed and snatched a hand-held mirror from the table. “Too heavy with the coal, but this green powder complements my eyes, don’t you think?”  
  
His entire face was coated with an opaque, pale cream while his cheeks and lips had been stained obscenely red. His auburn eyebrows had been colored darker and drawn together to form one long line. When he puckered his crimson lips, Gaius transformed into a memorizing but slightly terrifying harlot-Gorgon creature. Mischief sparkled in his golden-brown eyes. Allerix couldn’t look away.

 “You, Alexandros, will escort me to the circus. And we will sit with the citizens of Rome, and laugh at the mob’s jokes and cheer for our faction.”

“And who are you supposed to be?” Allerix cleared his throat. “Sir?”

Gods, even the man’s fingernails were stained red.

“Today, I am Aspasia.” Gaius smiled coyly and batted his lashes.

“Aspasia? You’re going out in public disguised as…?”

When Gaius stood and pulled off his tunic, Alle’s mouth went dry and his groin stirred. As he drank in the curves of Gaius’s firm chest muscles, the solid trunks of his thick thighs, and the ridges of his taut abdomen, a soft sigh of appreciation escaped his lips. He’d never seen the man wear an under garment; Gaius was naked save for the white linen loincloth cinched tight over his crotch. Alle’s gaze lingered over the swell of his prominent bulge.

“Aspasia is well known amongst the circus crowd. I—or rather, _she_ is a successful _poroboskos_ with a filthy tongue and a memorable laugh. The common men who attend the races adore her, mostly for her unseemly stories.”

“ _Po-ro-boskos_?” Allerix fumbled the word. Gods, he did need to improve his Greek.

“Aspasia provides highly coveted and talented prostitutes to aristocratic clients for ample coin. She is a renowned pimp. And since Aspasia’s delectable sirens are far too expensive for proletarians’ meager purses, she often entertains the poor, randy sods in the circus stands with lewd tales of her girls’ latest erotic feats.”

“You’ve done this before, sir?”

“Done what, Alle?”

“Worn women’s cosmetics, sir?”

“I’ve been attending chariot races as the unforgettable Aspasia for some time now.”

“Why, sir?”

“There are days when I wish to remain unidentifiable to the Praetorians and the court spies. Aspasia may be the darling of the rabble, but she selects a seat in the stands far from the emperor’s viewing box, a spot where she easily fades into the crowd.” Gaius circled his painted face with his pointer finger and added, “My mask of invisibility. Freedom.”

Wincing, Gaius readjusted his squished groin before declaring in a mock, high-pitched voice, “An uncomfortable but necessary price of freedom. We can’t have a misbehaving purple throbber popping up at the circus, can we? Aspasia would be positively mortified.”

Allerix shook his head. “Um…”

“Delia, fetch my frock!” Gaius shouted in his normal voice before winking at Alle. “I’ve selected an alluring blue gown with a fringed woolen shawl for the occasion. There’s a bitter chill sweeping down from the hills today. Autumn is losing her battle with winged Boreas.”

Delia artfully glided into the room, the long garment folded carefully over her forearm. After she helped Gaius put on the cumbersome layers of costume, she ran out of the room again only to return moments later with an enormous wig of carefully arranged stacks of black curls adorned with delicate bronze hairpins. Gaius sat back on his stool and she placed the monstrous tower on his head, tucking his errant strands of auburn hair under the contraption and retouching his garish cosmetics. When she was finished, Gaius asked, “How do I look, Alexandros?”

“Er…remarkable, sir.”

“Such a flatterer. Delia, find Varius and inform him we are ready. And ask him to bring a heavy cloak for our dear boy here.”

“Yes, Dominus.” She nodded with an amused smile and left the chamber.

“Varius is joining us on our adventure, sir?” Alle asked.

Pointing to his chest with his thumb, Gaius replied, “Aspasia is a lady of means. She does not travel through the streets of Rome to the circus without an armed bodyguard. Varius has assembled the clothing and face disguise to mimic a hired German brute. Bloody marvelous costume! Aspasia calls him Vangio. Unfortunately, although our dear centurion enjoys pretending to be someone else, he can’t feign a barbaric accent, so Vangio is—a man of few words.”

“I’d like to be someone else,” Allerix mumbled under his breath. When he’d realized he’d spoken his thoughts out loud, he cringed, but Gaius only blinked. Slowly. He moved closer and cupped Alle’s chin, lifting his face. “If I were to grant your wish, who would you be?”

Allerix took a deep breath and declared, “A free man, not a slave.”

“A freeborn. Of course.”

Gaius stepped back, lightly rubbing his ivory chin until his pursed crimson mouth relaxed into an amused grin. “You will join our cast and perform the role of Aspasia’s nephew, a gorgeous but naive lad newly arrived in the city—his first time in Rome, mind you—for a short holiday with his indulgent auntie.” Gaius reached down again to brush his thumb pad across Alle’s lower lip, and asked in his seductive voice, “But are you a convincing actor? Can you play your part in my circus charade, Allerix?”

Alle kissed the tip of Gaius thumb and smiled. “Yes, Dominus.”

 

~~~~~

****

**_The Circus Maximus, Rome_ **

 

Wedged in between Gaius—uh, Aspasia—and a rotund man who stunk like a rotting fish, Allerix scanned the gigantic circus, wondering how many people were crammed into the stands? Thousands, certainly. But how many thousands? Fifty? A hundred? More?

When a low noise rumbled behind his left ear, both he and Gaius glanced backwards to find Gaius’s veteran had returned from his mission. As much as he hated the bastard, Alle had to admire Varius’s clever disguise; his zigzag facial scar nearly disappeared into his artificially ruddy complexion. A thick, fake golden beard covered the rest of the bull’s face while long flaxen locks hung far past his shoulders. No one would have guessed he was a retired shit of a centurion happily playing the role of German bodyguard.

“Ah, there you are, Vangio! Look here, nephew. Our snacks have arrived.” Gaius accepted two small cloth bags from Varius—or rather, Vangio—and offered one to Allerix.

“Are you hungry? Would you care for…?” Gaius peered into one of the pouches of treats. “Roasted chickpeas, my dear Alexandros?”

Alle chuckled under his breath at Gaius’s comical caricature of woman’s voice. At least Gaius hadn’t decided to create yet another name for him. He was having enough trouble remembering to answer to his slave name, Alexandros.

“Yes, please. Auntie.”

Munching on the salty, spicy treats while counting the spectators seated in the row below, Allerix nearly choked when a hand wriggled under his arse, squeezed his cheek, and pulled away. It couldn’t have been Gaius; both of his hands were busy illustrating the sordid details of a prostitute’s erotic encounter with the enthralled elderly chap seated to his right.

“Auntie?”

When Gaius turned to face him, a clump of his black wig curls brushed Alle’s face. “Yes, dearie?”

“Someone just pinched my bottom.”

“By most audacious Castor!” Gaius’s silly shocked expression darkened to a vicious glare as he pointed at the foul-smelling fellow seated to Alle’s left. When Allerix nodded with a shrug, Gaius reached across and grabbed the man’s wrist. “Pardon, but did you paw my poor, innocent nephew?”

“He has a irresistible rump, Aspasia. Round and firm. Now release my fucking hand, procuress.”

Gaius loosened his grip and smiled demurely before raising his pointer finger. With a delighted grunt, Varius punched the dolt in the back of his head. He slumped over unconscious into his neighbor’s lap.

“Another fool who can’t handle his drink,” Gaius jested as he pulled Alle closer. With his arm draped protectively over Allerix’s shoulder, Gaius motioned toward the large building at the other end of the racetrack. “Do you see that ant of a magistrate standing on the platform beside the starting gates, nephew? When he drops his white cloth, the gates will open in unison, and all four factions’ chariots will burst from the block.”

“How can you tell the teams apart, Auntie?”

“By the colors of the drivers’ tunics. There are four factions: The Whites, Reds, Blues, and Greens. Now watch.”

And just as Gaius had described, the fabric fell and the metal gates opened. Eight four-horse chariots roared out of the blackness of their stalls and barreled down the sandy track, heading straight for Allerix’s seat. Although they were still some distance away, Alle spied the drivers whipping the magnificent, galloping beasts as they veered their carts towards other racers. Chariots bumped and bounced off each other. One driver lost control and hit the tall dividing wall.

“Shipwreck!” screamed a few in the crowd while others cheered and booed.

“By bloody vengeful Mars, we’ve lost a fucking cart before the first turn!” Gaius complained in his silly disguised voice as he shook his fist at the track.

Trying not to laugh, Allerix asked, “Which team do you want to win, Auntie?”

“The Red faction, of course, my dear boy.” Gaius winked and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before pulling out a piece of bright crimson cloth to wave like a flag. “I have cartloads of silver coin invested in my beloved Reds. And I have a substantial wager with my daft brother on this race. He’s a fanatic of those damn Blue cheaters. C’mon, lads! Faster!”

When the chariots drew closer, Alle could have sworn…

No, no. It must be a mirage.

After the seven remaining carts raced past them, a cloud of choking dust rose from the track. While spectators waved hand-held fans in front of their faces, a group of track attendants—slaves, Allerix guessed—ran onto the course and doused the dusty sand with buckets of water. For a few moments, the chariots were hidden behind the divider until they finally turned the far corner and reappeared. Stallions glistening with sweat, their nostrils flaring and their eyes maniacally wide, charged headlong down the track. Each driver had his long, leather reins wrapped tightly around his torso, leaving both hands free to whip his steeds and lash the other competitors.

When Alle coughed, Gaius pulled out a metal flask hidden somewhere in the folds of his voluminous dress and asked, “Wine?”

“Thank you, Auntie.”

“Look! We still have a chariot in the race. There’s still hope. Drive faster, you dawdling fucker!”

“How many times must they go around the course?”

“Seven. You can count how many laps remain by the dolphin markers on the spine divider down at the far end and the eggs markers up there on our end. See? With one lap finished, one egg counter has dropped.”

“Seven laps? Gods, that a long distance.”

“Like soldiers in a battle, drivers must have both skill and endurance to win a race. And luck. May fickle Fortuna be with our Reds!”

Gaius raised the flask in a salute to his goddess and waved his red cloth before enjoying a hearty gulp. He gently squeezed Alle’s knee and smiled. Despite the heavy coating of white paint obscuring his face, his dimples shone through his cosmetic facade. “Are you enjoying today’s circus adventure, Alexandros?”

“It’s fascinating. And thrilling. I hope your Red team wins, Auntie.”

Gaius dropped his absurd impression when he whispered in Alle’s ear, “If you’re entertained, I’ve already won. And I plan to show you my gratitude tonight when I fill you tight, irresistible arse with my hot seed.”

Just the thought caused Alle’s cock to twitch.

As the chariots approached, Allerix brushed the delicious but distracting image from his mind and tried to focus on one driver of the White team in particular. Had it been a mirage? Was his mind playing tricks? And then he saw that floppy brown hair sticking out from beneath the driver’s cap and that unmistakable goofy, toothy smile. Without thinking, he grabbed Gaius’s forearm and exclaimed, “Shit, it’s him. Gods, he’s alive!”

Gaius pressed a finger hard against Allerix’s lips. “Remember to play your part in our game, nephew. Now whom are you referring to?”

“That driver wearing a white tunic, sir. Um, Auntie.” Alle leaned back and bumped against Varius’s knees. “He’s a bloody chariot driver.” The unlikely reality dribbled off Allerix’s tongue.

“Who?” Gaius asked.

“Gorgas. My friend.” Allerix leaned forward and hugged Gaius’s muscular body through the bountiful layers of dress fabric. “He’s not dead. Gorgas is alive.”

“If he survives this race, would you care to pay him a visit at the stables?”

“Is that possible?”

Gaius pulled him even closer and mumbled against his cheek, “I’m Gaius Fabius Rufus, the fucking Lion of the Lucky Fourth. Anything my favorite desires is possible.”

“Your favorite?”

“If there were such a thing as a favorite, the Fates and my heart have decided you are mine, Alle. Now let’s see if your friend has enough talent to avoid being killed in a smash up, eh?”

The remaining chariots thundered around the track; with every turn, Alle held his breath until he found himself gasping for air. And after each egg-shaped lap counter dropped and the carts reappeared from behind the dividing wall, Gorgas was there, flailing his long whip, urging his horses to gallop faster. When they flew down the final stretch, Gorgas was in the lead. Not by much, but he was positioned to win. Suddenly a driver from the Greens lurched forward and passed Gorgas’s chariot, raising his whip high above his head in victory after he crossed the finishing line. The crowd screamed and hollered with glee, though a few poor sods buried their faces in their hands. The other charioteers drove their carts through the grand arch to exit the elliptical arena, conceding the palm branch to the Green winner. When Gorgas drove his chariot close by Allerix’s seat, he had tears streaking down his young, flushed cheeks.

How many times since their capture had Gorgas raced chariots? How many times had he lost?

“At least those fucking Blue pricks didn’t win,” Gaius grumbled, pulling Alle close to kiss his temple. He ruffled Alle’s hair and whispered, “My Reds may not have won, but your friend survived a hard-fought race.” Gaius stood and offered his hand, painted nails and all. “Come with me, my dear Alexandros. Auntie Aspasia wants to visit the circus stables to congratulate the drivers.”

 

~~~

 

At the end of a long, vaulted chamber tucked in a far corner of a brick building next to the great circus, a defeated charioteer sat alone in the dark on a wooden crate and cried quietly.

“Gorgas?”

After wiping his nose with the sleeve of his filthy white tunic, Gorgas stood and squinted. His voice cracked when he asked with hesitation, “Who—who is there?”

Gaius nodded, and Allerix stepped out of the shadows into the flickering light cast by a torch fixed to the wall. “It’s me, Gorgas. It’s Alle.”

“Prince Allerix?”

Gaius pulled Alle back into the shadows and growled into his ear, “Make damn sure he never utters those two words again or I will be forced to silence him. I’ve cut out a man’s tongue for less. Do you understand the severity of my order, Alle?”

“I understand completely, Dominus.”

“Good. Now go enjoy your reunion.” Gaius gave him a shove followed by a playful slap to his bum.

 “Is this a dream? Are you real? Oh gods, I’m already dead, aren’t I?” When Gorgas started to tremble uncontrollably, hunched over in a torrent of pitiful sobs, Alle rushed to his childhood friend and pulled him into a fierce hug.

“You’re not dead. We’re both alive.”

Gorgas squirmed out of Alle’s grasp and cupped Allerix’s face with his dirty, callused hands. “It _is_ you. The great god listened to my prayers. Praise mighty Zalmoxis!” Gorgas fell back into Allerix’s arms, burying his soaked face in the crook of Alle’s neck, clinging to him like a drowning man hanging on to a sturdy boulder in a raging river. Between sobs, he mumbled, “Prince Allerix is alive.”

“Quiet, Gorgas. You can’t call me that. Ever. If you do, we’ll both be killed.”

Gorgas’s big brown, bloodshot eyes opened wide. He nodded, and replied in the most sober tone Alle had ever heard him use, “Never again. I swear.”

“Never again.” Allerix squeezed Gorgas’s shoulders and added with a gentle smile, “Luckily, my new name is Alexandros so you can still call me Alle.”

Gorgas flashed a fleeting grin. “You’re a slave as well?”

Allerix swallowed and whispered, “Yes.”

“Alexandros! Introduce me to your driver friend.” When Gaius stepped forward into the light in all his Aspasia glory, Gorgas recoiled in horror and quietly asked, “By gods, is that your Domina?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. It’s a bit complicated at the moment.”

“She’s horrendous. You don’t have to fuck that ugly hag, do you?”

“Hush, Gorgas, or we’ll both get a thrashing. Don’t say another word, and only speak if asked a question.”

Gaius sashayed over, twirling the end of his fringed shawl, and studied Gorgas from head to tow. “By blessed Aphrodite, he’s a pretty, young thing. But why are you crying, Charioteer?”

Gorgas bowed. “Greetings, madam. Apologies for my tears, but my master warned that he’d kill me if I lost another race. I thought I was going to win today, but I won’t ever race again.”

“Your master’s an imbecile. You’re obviously a talented and courageous driver. Do you enjoy being a charioteer, lad?”

Gorgas glanced at Alle as if it were a trick question. When Allerix nodded, Gorgas said, “I do, madam. I love driving chariots. I love anything to do with horses and racing.”

“Wonderful! Gods know my beloved Reds are in need of skilled drivers. Who is this master who has threatened to kill you for a loss?”

“My master is Sosius Senecio, madam.”

“Ah!” The predatory, lethal spark Allerix both feared and admired lit up Gaius’s coal-lined, glittering golden eyes. “Yes, our buffoon of a proconsul is a legendary imbecile concerning most matters. I’ll have a word with Quintus Sosius Senecio. Like the majority of men in Rome, he owes me a favor. Several fucking favors actually.”

When Alle opened his mouth to ask a question, Gaius raised his hand to stop him and continued, “Would it make you happy if I acquired your friend here, Alexandros?”

Alle’s jaw dropped as tears welled up. “Yes. Very happy, sir.”

Gaius ran his fingers through Alle’s hair and tugged. “Auntie Aspasia, remember?”

Alle lowered his gaze and chuckled. “Yes, Auntie.”

“Vangio!”

The disguised veteran lumbered across the long room and bowed.

“Escort Alexandros and…” Gaius narrowed his eyes. “Name again?”

“Gorgas, madam.”

“Escort Alle and Gorgas to the personal slaves’ quarters in my mansion. Alexandros, see to it that your friend washes off all that circus grime, yes? And have Bryaxis find him a clean tunic and a good meal while I negotiate a transfer of ownership with his idiotic master. You will reside in my home and work in my stables, Gorgas, but your primary task will be to race hard for my beloved Reds. And I do expect you to bloody win a contest on occasion. Understood?”

Gorgas dropped to his knees and pressed his face against Gaius’s draped shins, thanking him over and over.

“And our grateful charioteer kneels rather gracefully as well. Perhaps he can teach Simon a thing or two. I suspect they’re close in age.”

After extracting his legs from Gorgas’s groveling, Gaius pulled Allerix over to the side and kissed him on the mouth. “When you’re finished tending to your friend, bathe and wait for me on my bed. Naked.”

Allerix smiled so hard his cheeks ached. “With pleasure, Dominus. And thank you for saving Gorgas.”

“How I do love your smile. You’ll have ample opportunity to show your gratitude when I return to the Caelian. I intend to worship you until you are satiated and delightfully sore, my dearest Alexandros.” He turned and waved to Gorgas and Varius. “Farewell, lads. I’m off to change into more appropriate business attire and collect an overdue debt. Ta, ta!”

After Gaius strolled out of the room, Gorgas rose to his feet and mumbled into Alle’s ear, “She may have a hideous face but there’s warmth and compassion in her eyes. Are you fond of your Domina?”

“Can you keep another secret?” When Gorgas nodded, Allerix clutched Gorgas’s elbow and guided him as they followed Varius out of the stables. With a faint, affectionate sigh, Alle confessed, “I think I might be in love with her.”  
  


~~~~~

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

**_Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome_ **

 

A steady downpour spilled over the terracotta roof tiles and gushed from the drain spouts, soaking the streets, silencing the bustling city. Enticed by the soothing music of the heavy rainfall, Allerix pushed aside one of the wool curtains partially blocking access to the chamber’s balcony and extended his right arm into evening air. Frigid drops danced off his fingertips as a puddle collected in his cupped palm. Gaius had been right; autumn was yielding to winter. Back home, the first snows must have already blanketed the rocky mountain crags. Whoever had managed to escape the Romans’ swords would be up there, struggling to survive the wind and snow up instead of warming their feet by the hearth.

Did it ever snow here, or did Rome’s skies shed only cold torrents?

The journey home from the circus had been quiet. By the time he and bewildered Gorgas and Varius, still dressed in his comical German bodyguard costume, reached the first summit of the paved path leading to Gaius’s estate, the sun had already disappeared behind a wall of menacing blue-grey clouds. At the mansion, moments before the first raindrops fell, Bryaxis had allowed Alle to help Gorgas settle into one of the small rooms down the corridor from the household slaves’ common dining area.

Once they’d picked a modest but cozy vacant cell, Allerix fetched a chamber pot and a pitcher of water for his skittish friend, all the while chattering on and on like an idiot. He assured Gorgas he wouldn’t be harmed. He pretended all of this was somehow normal. But he didn’t say a word about Aspasia, how underneath that coating of cosmetics and that monstrous wig, the ugly hag wasn’t a woman. Worse, Aspasia wasn’t just any Roman master. She was the feared and completely fucking despised red-haired Roman butcher. Gorgas was in for a surprise.

Allerix inhaled deep until the damp air filled his chest.

Gorgas would find out soon enough. Best to have him enjoy a restful night’s sleep before the truth damaged… everything.

He wanted to explain to his friend the reason behind his apparent surrender; he wanted to share his plans for revenge. But Gorgas was in enough danger as it was. Every dusty lap he drove around the circus could end in a gruesome death. The odds and the Roman gods were against him on the racing track. And Gorgas couldn’t be of any real help. His poor friend would be safer if he remained ignorant, and Allerix would continue to play the part of a submissive, smitten sex slave. The butcher’s catamite. He wouldn’t burden Gorgas with the weight of his conspiracy. He had to murder alone.

Perhaps Gorgas would learn his true, noble reasons after the Roman king was dead.

And Allerix, son of Thiamarkos, was dead.

Perhaps then Gorgas would understand and beseech the great god to grant Allerix immortality. But would almighty Zalmoxis judge Alle’s traitorous obedience to be a worthy price to pay for righteous vengeance?

A cold gust blew in. The lamps flickered, and shivers tickled Alle’s bare legs. After he dragged the heavy curtain over and hooked it back onto the column shaft, Allerix glanced around the room. The dancing shadows on the walls cast by the burning wicks stilled. Gaius’s master chamber was decorated with all sorts of lamps, clay and metal, each one a different shape. By the door—a bronze roaring lion, on the wall near the chair—a strange painted bird. On either side of the bed hung two silver lamps shaped like erect penises with wings. With copper bells dangling from their pudgy balls.

Alle wiped his wet hand on his tunic before rubbing his face. Even though he’d had a quick wash, there were still bits of circus dust trapped in his eyes. A chill had cooled the room, but the bed looked warm and inviting, all smothered in layers of furs and plush blankets.

When would Gaius return? How long did it take to transfer ownership of a slave? What if Gorgas’s master didn’t want to sell him?

As he ambled to the bed, pulling his tunic over his head, goose bumps danced up the backs of his arms.

He wouldn’t have to wait long. Gaius took what he wanted, didn’t he? He’d be back soon.

_“Wait for me on my bed. Naked.”_

Alle climbed onto the mattress and remained up on his hands and knees, offering his arse to the closed door. Uncomfortable, not to mention humiliating. Discouraged, he collapsed flat on the mattress and buried his face into the soft bedcovers. But he needed to breathe. With a frustrated grunt, Allerix rolled over on his back, fluffed the pillows, and experimented with a few other poses until he settled on one that didn’t feel completely ridiculous: leaning back against the cushions, cradling the back of his head with his right hand. Then he closed his eyes halfway and spread his straight legs apart, his left hand resting on his stomach. A deep calming breath, and his body sunk even deeper into the covers. He gnawed and licked his lips until they warmed. The perfect picture of an eager pleasure slave. Now all he had to do was wait. And not fall asleep.

Alle had barely registered the approaching footsteps when Gaius barged into the room, barking orders at the three domestic slaves jogging after him with trays. Gone were his garish cosmetics, his flouncy dress, and that silly wig.

Gaius was Gaius again. Not a trace of the chalk coating remained on his freshly shaved face.

Out of Gaius’s notice, two of the slaves glanced over at Allerix splayed across the mattress. When the older one sneered, Alle instinctively jerked upright, hugging his knee to his chest with his right arm while covering his groin with his hand.

“Greetings, _căţel_.” Gaius’s pressed lips melted into a smile as his eyes lingered over Alle’s pathetic attempt at modesty. “My apologies. I’d promised I wouldn’t call you _căţel_ any longer. Greetings, Alle.”

“Greeting, Dominus,” Alle replied, fumbling with the blankets to hide his naked body from the slaves’ judgmental glares.

Gaius rubbed his hands together. “Why is there a chill in here? Light the fires!”

Two of the servants set their laden trays on the serving table while the third ran about lighting the ornate braziers in all four corners of the master chamber. As the flames rose, Gaius asked, “Are you warmer now, Alle?”

“Yes, sir. I’d opened the curtains earlier to watch the rainstorm, but a cold wind blew in. My apologies.”

Smirking, Gaius lifted the lid of a carved box and inspected whatever was inside before dismissing all three slaves with a quick nod. He waited for them to close the heavy bronze door before he sauntered over to the balcony’s screen of columns. After pulling back a wool drape, Gaius studied the drenching storm and said, “Heavy rains at the end of the day are common in Rome this time of year. I adore the mornings after the storms—the city clean of her grime and crimes—but I detest these fucking cold downpours. Even more so when we’re on campaign.” Gaius put his hands on his hips and turned around. “The skies were clear and sunny in Dacia for much of last winter. We’d anticipated ice and mud would slow our wagons, but the dirt tracks were hard-packed and easy to traverse. Is it normally that dry in early winter?”

“No, sir. Usually it snows after the last harvests.”

“Perhaps your storm gods abandoned you.”

Alle bit his tongue to muffle a curse when Gaius added, “But that’s all in the past. I’m sure peace and order will entice frosty Khione to return to Dacia. Do you like snow, Allerix?”

Another odd question. Alle mulled it over before answering, “Yes, I do.”

“I’d hoped you might. So do I. It rarely snows in Rome, but I’ve received word that the season’s first flakes are falling on the mountaintops north of here. Years ago when I was stationed on a mountain pass for much of a winter, I found the crisp white stillness of the landscape eerily soothing.”

“You were stationed on a mountain pass? An officer of your high rank, sir?” Allerix asked.

“I was an inexperienced cub, newly arrived from Athens. I’d finished my philosophy studies only six months earlier. And I was also a pugnacious, cocky prat.”

Allerix coughed, hiding his smile behind his fist, as Gaius reminisced, “During one of my more idiotic days as a junior officer, I insulted a Tribune and was disciplined for insubordination. That blundering, dog-faced fucker deserved far worse than a few obscene gestures and colorful profanities. But Fortuna stood beside my delinquent arse, and soon the Furies punished him with a dishonorable death while I received the unexpected reward of short-term deployment.”

After closing the curtain, Gaius lifted the thick cloak from his shoulders and tossed it over a chair. “The snow-blanketed mountains surrounding our isolated outpost were breathtaking. Frigid and unforgiving, but magically serene. The sort of frozen silence that allows a man to think. To imagine untold possibilities.”

A rush of warmth flooded Allerix’s heart. His fingers tingled when he remembered those days he’d spent dreaming up untold possibilities while hiding from his tormentors in his secret snow fort. “How old were you then, sir?”

After a few moments, Gaius smiled and replied with a wistful lilt, “Twenty years, I think. Younger than you are now. Green and reckless and stupid.”

While he strolled back to the serving table, Gaius asked, “Tell me, Alle. How is our skinny charioteer faring?”

“He’s, um… disoriented and nervous but eternally grateful, Dominus.” Alle blew out a breath. “Did you…?”

Gaius rested his palms on the table’s surface. “Indeed I did. In and out of the Senate’s curia, our proconsul Senecio has always been an easily persuadable ass. Even before we’d started negotiating the price, he offered me two of his charioteers at an absurdly reasonable cost. Now your friend, Gorgas, as well as a lanky but attractive Egyptian driver, are members of my family. And to address another one of your lingering concerns, the answer is no.”

“No, sir?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand, Dominus.”

“Gorgas will not serve as a bed warmer. I do tend to acquire an abundance of pets, but thin, weepy charioteers don’t interest me.”

Alle’s jaw dropped as an image of Gorgas lying naked in the bed beside him flashed through his mind. Good gods! Given the insanity of the Aspasia charade and the excitement of the races, Alle hadn’t had time to worry about whether or not Gaius planned to fuck Gorgas.

Shit.

Gaius poured a cup of wine, took a sip, and sighed with pleasure, “No, chariot drivers have no appeal at all. But _you_ , Allerix, fascinate and entice me more than I have words to describe.”

“Thank you for saving Gorgas, sir.”

“The Reds need more talented drivers.” Gaius’s smile faded. _“_ I’ve decided he’ll work in the stables and assist with training and caring of my horses. I assume our dear Gorgas has some experience around skittish racing steeds. Is he fit for the task? I wish to avoid any more accidents involving spooked, hotheaded beasts charging down pathways.”

“He’ll do well, sir. And he’ll race chariots for your Red team, right?”

“That will be his primary job. To fucking win.” Gaius raised his glass. “May palm-wielding Victoria crown spindly Gorgas with wreaths of glorious triumph!”

Allerix smiled and held up an imaginary cup. “To Gorgas! To Victory!”

“To our beloved Reds! And to the magical gifts of the snow goddess!”

Their comfortable laughter slowly dwindled to low hums and sighs. After placing his glass on the serving table, Gaius stripped off his green tunic embellished with gold and silver threads. The posh garment dropped to the mosaic floor. Standing at the foot of the enormous bed, he cocked an eyebrow as he waved his pointer finger through the air. “I appreciate this bashful presentation of yours—demure and shielded by blankets. It’s surprisingly seductive, but I’ve always preferred to worship a lusty faun rather than a shy nymph.”

“Sir?”

Gaius crossed his arms. “There’s no fucking point to being naked if you hide your gorgeous body, Allerix.”

“Oh.” Alle threw off the bedcovers and lay back, stretching his arms above his head.

“Now lower your long legs, Prince Allerix. Ah! There—that’s much better. Now I can admire all of you. Close your eyes. Do you trust me?”

Surrendering his will to the confusing mixture of alarm and exhilaration gurgling in his gut, Alle shut his eyes, gripped the soft fur beneath his body with both hands, and mumbled, “I trust you, sir.” He hadn’t intended to muddle his reply with that wobble of doubt, but there was no way to take his hesitation back.

“You don’t sound convinced. Tell me—are you eager to obey my commands? Eager for me to worship you?”

Alle’s trepidation yielded to the desire warming his body. In a voice low and raspy with arousal, he whispered with his eyes still closed, “Yes, sir.”

“And are you willing to surrender to Eros’ euphoria?”

“I am.” Alle swallowed, nodding once, and added, “Dominus.”

  

~~~

  

“Pleasure yourself.”

“Sir?”

“Pull your pipe. Squeeze your sausage. Masturbate, my dear Allerix.”  
  
 After a moment’s hesitation, a much shorter moment than Gaius had expected, the lad began to stroke his soft cock. Slowly. With twitchy, dithering motions.

“Forget I’m watching, and enjoy yourself,” Gaius reassured him. Don’t be bashful. Relish your touch.”

Allerix squeezed his closed eyes tighter, biting his lower lip as he stroked faster. Gaius sipped his wine, smiling when Alle’s lips parted and his dark, young prick hardened against his abdomen. A drop of translucent juice smeared across Alle’s alabaster skin. Gone was the lad’s tan from a summer working under the Campanian sun. Gaius studied Alle’s torso and his long, lightly muscled arms, increasingly certain that he preferred Alle’s body like this—moon pale like white marble. By bountiful Aphrodite, Allerix fucking glowed, an ethereal vision against a backdrop of animal pelts and colorful bedcovers.

“You are fucking sublime.”

Gaius lifted the lid on the carved box filled with straw and his playtime surprise. When he jammed a silver cup into the pile to scoop up the treat, Allerix paused for a moment and scrunched his brow as if he recognized the sound but couldn’t quite place it. Not exactly.

“What was—?” Alle mumbled.

“Trust me, and focus on the splendid task in your sinister hand, Allerix.”

“Yes, sir.” With an incredulous chuckle, Alle soon relaxed and returned to stroking himself—faster and harder—until all his apprehension flew away. His back arched; he hips bucked off the mattress. Thrusting his rock hard cock in and out of his nimble fist, Allerix’s moans turned into desperate groans. Glistening puddles of sweat collected in the dips of his chest and stomach.

The lad was a fucking god carved from ivory.

Gaius set the silver cup on the bedside table and climbed onto the mattress. Propping himself up against the wall, he draped his arm over Allerix’s shoulder and pulled him into a loose embrace. Allerix leaned back, resting his head on Gaius’s shoulder. Panting.

While lightly brushing his knuckles up and down Alle’s neck, Gaius murmured against his coal-black hair, “Keep your eyes closed, and don’t stop—or finish—until I give you permission.”

In the past, _căţel_ would have recoiled in anger at those words; Allerix simply nodded, a slight smile tugging at his full, pursed lips. Kissing Alle’s temple, Gaius asked, “Do you enjoy the delicious agony of anticipation, Allerix?”

Squirming against Gaius’s gentle embrace, Alle licked his dry lips. “Yes.”

“Rest your busy hand for a moment and open your eyes. I have a treat for us.”

After a long, rather annoyed exhale, Allerix released his erection and turned to see the cup in Gaius’s left hand.

“This vessel holds a luxury I’ve not had for some time.”

Alle leaned across Gaius’s chest and craned his neck to peer inside. With a grin, he jammed his pointer finger into the cup.

“Snow,” he whispered with near reverence. “But, how?”

Gently grasping Allerix by the wrist, Gaius lifted his hand and sucked off the frozen treat. “The ice harvesters drive cartloads of fresh snow in crates insulated with straw down from the mountains and store it underground. Not cheap, but it’s more affordable this time of year. An enjoyable but infrequent extravagance.”

“What do you _do_ with it?”

“Eat it. Drink it.” Gaius snatched up some snow and pressed the cold flakes against the tip of Alle’s nose. “Fuck in it.”

“What?” Alle shook his head and laughed. “I don’t think you have enough snow for that, Dominus.”

“Not nearly enough to roll around in, sadly.” Gaius tipped his chin towards the serving table across the room. “But there’s plenty of snow in that box for a chilled glass of drink or two.” After handing Alle the silver cup half-filled with snow, Gaius looped a finger through the handle of a small bronze jug on the side table and poured deep golden-burgundy liquid into the cup. “This rare grape changes its nature when married with mountain snow. It turns from harsh and bitter to mellow and aromatic. Go on—give the nectar a taste.”

Alle swallowed a sip of the icy drink. “Sweet, but pleasant. And cold.”

Gaius took the cup from Alle’s hand and swallowed a gulp before setting it back down on the table. He pulled Allerix on top of him, wrapping his arms around his waist and stared up into his hooded, hazel eyes. “Did you enjoy our time at the circus, Alle?”

“Very much, sir. Did Aspasia like the races?”

“She enjoyed…” Gaius mumbled against Allerix’s skin, tracing his tongue over the bump of his larynx. “Your company.”

While Gaius kissed his way down Alle’s neck to his chest, licking and nibbling one nipple until it was hard before devouring the other, Allerix pushed up on his hands and knees, offering the underside of his body. Gaius wriggled his arse down the fur-covered mattress towards the foot of the bed, brushing his lips over Alle’s stomach. Then he kissed the bony curves of Alle’s narrow hips and the sensitive skin in the hollows, tickling with his lips until Allerix chuckled through a gasp. After one light, continuous stroke of his tongue up the length of Alle’s aroused cock, Gaius rose up on one elbow and pushed Allerix onto his back. Unable to hide his smirk, Gaius reached for the cup of slushy wine.

Alle grabbed the bedframe with both hands, and Gaius couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve guessed what I’m about to do, haven’t you?”

His knuckles pale and his eyes on fire, Allerix spread his thighs farther apart and confessed between heavy breaths, “Perhaps. You’re difficult to predict.”

 “Good.” Gaius drank a swig, holding the ice-cold wine in his mouth for a moment or two until he finally swallowed. “Ah! Damn refreshing.”

His eyes wide open with anticipation, Alle barely had time to catch his breath when Gaius descended. In one long, ferocious suck, Gaius swallowed Allerix’s hard prick down his throat.

“Fuck! Cold!” Alle’s scream dissolved into a resigned groan. He tried to pull away but Gaius pressed the lad’s hips into the mattress and swallowed deeper. As Gaius’s hungry mouth grew warmer and warmer, Allerix’s resentful protests gave way to salacious moans. Alle’s prick throbbed against his tongue.

Alle grumbled incoherently when Gaius pulled his mouth off and held Alle’s rigid, glistening cock in his hand. Smiling a fool’s grin, Gaius pumped Alle’s shaft and opened his mouth. Spurts of milky seed shot out, some landing in Gaius’s lips and tongue while others splattered over his face. After acting as if he’d be doused with ice water, Gaius licked his lips and snarled, “Delicious.”

Alle sat up, dazed and out of breath. He stared at Gaius for a while before cradling his face.

“By the bloody gods,” Alle whispered. “You’re mad.” He swiped a glob of semen off Gaius’s chin, and grabbed the edge of a rumpled bedcover to wipe away the rest of his ejaculation.

“But impossible to resist, yes?” Gaius dropped his silly grin and feigned a serious glare. “Oh, look there.”

“Where?”

“In your bubo eyes. I may be wrong, but I think you’re falling in love with this crazy old general.”

Alle laughed and collapsed back on to the bed, throwing one arm over his eyes. “You may be right, sir.”

“Sometimes I am. Roll over.”

Allerix writhed in the bedcovers before turning over on his stomach and stretching out across the mattress. Gaius ran his tongue up the back of his left leg before he climbed up on Allerix’s perfectly round and hard apricot bum. Grinding his stiff cock into Alle’s hot crack, he massaged Alle’s back, kneading his sweaty muscles.

“You’re satiated and relaxed. That pleases me.”

“If you don’t stop,” Allerix mumbled. “I’ll also be asleep.”

“Not yet.” Gaius replied, and slapped Alle’s arse. Hard enough to turn his alabaster skin bright pink. “We’re not finished.”

Alle squealed and opened one eye. “No rest, then?” With a flirtatious inflection in his voice, he added, “May I have another tap?”

“Of course!” Gaius rolled off him and smacked Alle’s other cheek even harder. “More?”

Folding his arms under his chin, Allerix closed both eyes and grinned. “Mmm… yes.”

“I do admire a lad who relishes a good, solid spanking. Let’s fire you up before we play with the snow again, yes?”

“More snow?” Groggy and delirious with his face half-buried under a blanket, Alle grunted, “Yes, Rufus.”

After ten more slaps, each one followed by Alle’s satisfied, giggly groans, Gaius held his palm open next to Alle’s skin. Warmth radiated off his ruddy arse cheeks. He retrieved the box of snow while Alle stretched his long legs and yawned, threatening to slip into slumber again. Gaius dipped his fingers into the box and, with a fistful of snow, strolled to the bed. One hand pressed the snow into Alle’s crack and against his hole while the other pushed down on his shoulders to avoid a punch hitting Gaius in the face.

Struggling against Gaius’s hold, Alle cried, “Argh! Fuck. Shit, that’s cold!”

When Gaius dug his strong fingers into Alle’s abused cheeks, spread them and began licking lazy circles around his entrance, Allerix winced and squirmed before finally surrendering to Gaius’s tongue. He melted into the covers and rubbing his groin back and forth against the mattress.

“Ready so soon?” Gaius sat up, but continued to knead Alle’s toasty, sore arse cheeks. “To be young and perpetually virile.”

“Fuck me,” Allerix begged.

“And where are your manners?”

Alle snickered and groaned. “Shit.”

“Pardon?” Gaius teased and slapped his arse.

“Ow! Dominus! Please… please fuck me, Dominus.”

Gaius snatched a fistful of Alle’s loose damp hair and wrapped his other arm under Alle’s chest to pull him up. Once he had the lad upright, Alle’s cheeks hugging Gaius’s aching, steel-hard cock, he loosened his grip and rubbed Allerix’s scalp. “I want you to orgasm again.”

Alle inhaled sharply; a sweet laugh forced its way through his smile.

“I trust you’ll do your best to obey my orders,” Gaius growled playfully into his ear, nibbling on Allerix’s perfect little earlobe.

Alle fell back against him, eyes shut and luscious lips parted wide. “I _will_ obey your orders, Dominus.”

“That’s a good soldier. You deserve a reward.” Gaius picked up the glass vial that he’d placed on the mattress by his calf. After a few hours nestled inside the box of snow, its shimmery amethyst surface was frosted in a beautiful veil of ice crystals.

Gaius held the delicate, pointy-tipped tube in front of Alle’s eyes. “This pretty little jar contains an exceptional oil from southern Gaul.”

“And what happens when _this_ fancy liquid of yours mixes with snow?”

“It becomes… extremely fucking cold.”

Allerix collapsed in a fit of snorts. Gods, Gaius loved to hear him laugh. Truly laugh without hesitation or fear. When he laughed, Allerix sounded free.

“And after a short time, this wicked concoction of flower and herb extracts becomes something else.”

“Becomes what?”

“A pleasant surprise.” Gaius pulled Alle’s head back and kissed him on the mouth. Passionate. Demanding. When Alle yielded to catch his breath, Gaius lifted his chin and said, “On your elbows and knees, Allerix. Spread your legs wide. I’m going to pound your aching pink arse and fuck your beautiful balls dry.”

While Allerix crawled into position, Gaius rose up on his knees and popped the wax seal off the glass oil jar. He poured a thin stream of clear lubricant over two fingers and, slippery as an eel, slid them both into Alle’s tight heat.

“Bastard! S’fucking cold.” Allerix dropped his head between his fists clutching the bedcovers.

Gaius pulled his fingers out and leaned down to kiss the curve of Alle’s burning bum cheek. And then he drove three oiled fingers into his prince, twisting and caressing until Allerix whimpered. Gaius sat back on his heels and admired Alle’s beauty. His gaping desire. His surrender.

He blew out a long breath and collected his wits before pouring a thick stream of freezing Gallic oil over his own engorged, granite-hard shaft and immediately plunged into Allerix before his lust retreated from the shock.

“Fucking cruel Venus! Gods, that’s agonizingly good.” Gaius’s gasps turned into to groans as he plowed Allerix’s sculpted, plump rump. His fingers latched onto Alle’s hipbones, holding them steady as he drove harder and deeper.

“Grab your prick and ride to ecstasy with me,” Gaius urged, and looked down to find Allerix already pleasuring himself. Furiously. The vision of Allerix stroking himself to another release, the sensation of the oil turning from a frosty bite to an intense tingling heat pushed Gaius up and over the edge. He screamed and drained his balls into Allerix’s body—wave after wave until his seed spilled out and dripped down the lad’s hairy thighs.

Once he could catch his breath, Gaius forced himself to pull out and plopped down on his back beside Alle.

He pushed his damp auburn curls off his soaked forehead and rubbed his eyes. Extending both arms into the air, Gaius half-shouted, half-laughed, “Fuck! And a bloody brilliant fuck at that!”

Through faint chuckles, Allerix babbled, “Can we rest for a bit, Dominus?”

Gaius rolled on his side and kissed the bulb of Alle’s full cheek. Alle’s grin disappeared as he drifted off to sleep and snored softly.

 Gaius pulled the blankets over their spent, sticky, trembling bodies and kissed Alle’s temple one more time. “Pleasant dreams, my dear prince. I’ll cherish these days we have left together before war drags me away from you.”

 

~~~

 

Luc’s copy of an official ledger listing palace expenditures sat there rolled up on his desk, unopened and sealed with stamped wax. Gaius tapped the table’s wooden surface with his clipped fingernails, his gaze glued to the scroll of papyrus as if he could see through its layers if only he stared hard and long enough. Would Greek letters be scrawled in the margins like the ones they’d discovered in the other duplicates Lucius had stashed away? Were there lewd sketches of creatures fighting and fornicating? Was there anything fucking worthwhile inside that blasted scroll?

 He’d stolen the record from the palace archives right under the fucking nose of the Emperor. Marcus hadn’t an inkling of a clue that Gaius had shoved a scroll into the folds of his toga.

First he’d committed treason to save Allerix from the arena. Now he could add practiced document thief to his list of achievements.

Gaius touched the edge of the ledger, running his finger over the hardened red seal bearing Luc’s oak insignia when a three rapid knocks on his office door startled him.

Jerking his hand back, Gaius cleared his throat and hollered, “Enter.”

“Commander Fabius.” Bryaxis swallowed hard. He appeared tired, a cloud of worry darkening his normally bright, barbarian eyes.

“Have you found something?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I mean—I’ve discovered something strange, but I don’t know what it means.” Bry lifted the tied stack of scrolls that Attianus had surrendered to Gaius at the archives. Lucius Petronius’s household registers. Decius’s copies of the missing originals.

“Forget what it means, and tell me what it is.”

“This….” Bryaxis pulled out a thin, curled sheet of papyrus from a pouch tide to his belt. “Was rolled into one of the expenditure scrolls. It’s not one of Dom’s account records.”

Seated behind his desk, Gaius held out his palm. “Another rogue scroll, hmm?”

After scanning the first few lines of writing, Gaius closed his eyes and fought to hold the scream threatening to rip out of his chest. Anger battled with fear as bright flashes of light stabbed the undersides of his eyelids. He rubbed his temples, and forced his eyes open. The letters stared back at him.

 

 

**_Allerix_ **

**_Second son of Thiamarkos._ **

**_Captured pr. Kal. Iunius. No markings._ **

 

 

“Have you read this?” he asked Bry.

“Not all of it. I found that papyrus this morning, and when I realized… Well, I quickly rolled it up and stored it away until I could give it to you, Commander.”

Gaius rose to his feet, raking his fingers through his curls. Do not panic, he warned himself over and over. Find a solution. Strategize. “How do you think that scrap found its way into Luc’s bundle of records, Caledonian?”

Bryaxis started to speak but paused. With a worried brow, he clicked his tongue and mumbled, “Someone put it there.”

“Yes, someone fucking did.”

Twiddling his fingers in front of his crotch, Bryaxis took a step forward. “What does that record mean, sir?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I don’t need to know, Commander Fabius. I’m only concerned because it’s obviously upset you.”

Gaius studied Bryaxis, noting the sincerity in his sober expression. The somber tone of his words. Could Luc’s whore be trusted? Lucius certainly trusted his life with his concubine, but not enough apparently to share whatever secret Luc had been hiding. He hadn’t even told. Lucius hadn’t trusted either of them. And now Gaius had no fucking idea whom he could trust anymore, but he threw his dice anyway.

“That’s a copy of a military record. It’s a list of known enemy leaders along with their chief warriors and adult sons.” Gaius folded his arms. “From the last war.”

Bry glanced at the bowed papyrus sheet wobbling on the table beside a scroll. “Dacians.”

“Yes, Dacians.” Gaius returned to his chair and sat, gripping both armrests. “It appears that some-fucking-one has sent me a message.”

“Message, sir?”

“It’s an attack, Bryaxis. A blatant threat directed at me and my family.”

Bry’s fidgeting hands clasped together. “Can I be of assistance, Commander?”

Without a word or warning, Gaius pulled his dagger from the scabbard hanging from his office chair and pushed Bryaxis up against wall by the door. With his forearm pressed against the tall slave’s chest, the edge of his blade hugging Bry’s throat, Gaius narrowed his eyes. “I should cut your tongue out right now, just to be sure. To be certain you stay quiet. But then Lucius’s ghost would haunt me forever, the vengeful prick. If I permit you keep your tongue, do you swear you won’t speak of this with anyone? Not Maximus. Not Euphronia. No one. Not even Luc’s bronze spirit statuette?”

Bry swallowed and nodded; a drop of sweat rolled down his forehead from beneath his fringe of brunet locks. “I swear an oath to you on my life, sir.”

Gaius lowered the dagger and stepped back. “You want to assist me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then help me confirm exactly who deliberately put that fucking record in Luc’s pile of scrolls.”

“Confirm, Commander? Do you already know who it is?”

“I have a suspicion.” Gaius placed the dagger on his desk and pointed to the sealed scroll from the archives. “Our dear Pi, Alpha, Alpha seems the likeliest culprit. Now help me prove it.”

 

~~~~~


	11. Chapter 11

**_Gaius Fabius’s mansion on the Caelian Hill, Rome_ **

 

“Haven’t you seen the stables yet?” Simon asked as they rushed down another short flight of stairs.

“No.”

“Really?” Simon brushed aside his fringe of brunet curls and blinked in disbelief. “They’re amazing. It’s a fucking horse palace!” Simon’s soft, cheerful chuckle echoed off the brick walls of the vaulted ramp leading down from the main house. Allerix would have been hopelessly lost if Simon hadn’t been guiding him through this disorienting puzzle of levels with corridors stretching in every direction.

“Can I ask you something, Simon?”

“Sure.”

“Do you hate me?”

“Why would I hate you, Alexandros? Oh, because you’re Dom’s favorite… again? Nah, I’m not upset. I rather like you, actually.” Simon paused on the bottom tread and flashed his bright, genuine smile. Allerix exhaled and smiled back. Perhaps, Alle hoped, Simon could be his friend again. He didn’t understand why he cared so much about what Simon thought of him. Allerix just knew that it mattered somehow.

“I mean…” Simon continued. “I was really fucking pissed off for while, but there’s nothing I can do to change the way things are, is there? Like Bryaxis said, it’s simple. Dom prefers your arse—and that rosebud mouth of yours—more than mine.”

“My what?” Alle touched his lips before shaking his head. “He won’t prefer me for long. I’m just a… a novelty.”

Simon’s brilliant green eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you mad? Listen, Dominus doesn’t fuck anyone else but you. I’ve been a part of Dom’s family for my entire life and trust me—that’s _never_ happened before.”

“No one? How can you be sure?” Allerix asked in a hushed voice.

“Because I’ve paid attention. I’ve been watching who comes and goes, and I’m positive Dominus hasn’t bedded anyone but you since you returned from those awful underground barracks. Not even that Arabian girl, and she’s also a new pleasure slave, right?” Simon cocked one eyebrow before tugging Alle’s arm. “Stop being daft and hurry up. We’ve only time for a quick visit with Dom’s horses. That grumpy tutor of ours will cane us if we arrive late for our lessons.”

Side by side, they trotted down another corridor. But this passageway wasn’t illuminated with torches like the others. Instead, small windows all along the top of the wall allowed bright squares of morning sunlight to shine down on the herringbone-patterned brick floor.

It had been almost a moon since Alle had left that dreadful cell, and nearly every day since he’d lazed away the hours in Gaius’s posh, secluded master suite. Time spent reading and bathing and exercising in the courtyard connected to the private baths. Allerix only left the suite to attend his tutoring sessions and the common mid-day meal, both welcome distractions from the anticipation of Gaius’s return from his daytime duties.

He and Gaius had spent almost every night together since. Just the two of them enjoying wine, laughter, and each other. Kissing and stroking every stretch of skin, discovering every ticklish spot. Nights under the stars and moon, hours filled with pleasure and adoration. After they made love, Gaius often read stories aloud, pausing here and there to explain the details of some fantastic tale or memorable battle. Sometimes they sat across from each other on the bed with lyres in their laps. Gaius taught Alle how to pluck a long piece of music without cocking up the notes. And Allerix now knew the words and melodies to a few new songs. Proper dinner ditties, Gaius had called them.

And then there were those rare days when Gaius remained at home, and they sparred with short wooden practice swords in courtyard. Played dice games and swam naked in the garden pool. Perhaps what Simon had said _was_ true. That Gaius hadn’t fucked or even slept with any one else since the day of the earthquake with that frightened flock of starlings soaring over the palace. Unless, Alle realized, he fucked other people during the day wherever it was he went. Perhaps he went to the palace. Perhaps Gaius had another lover waiting for him there. Alle cursed the stab of jealousy injuring his heart. Gods, he despised how much he wanted Gaius to be his alone.

He and Simon turned another corner and jogged down another set of stairs.

Shit, Gorgas must know the truth by now. Alle hadn’t seen Gorgas since the lad’s first day under Gaius’s roof. Gorgas must have realized that the benevolent, auburn-haired master of the mansion was also the general who’d led the attack against their people. What would Allerix say to his friend?

What could he say?

As they drew closer to a large, closed wooden door at the end of a side corridor, the rich musky smells of the stables filled Alle’s nostrils. The sweet, thrilling fragrance of horses, and fresh cut hay, and oiled leather. Gods, he missed horses.

When Simon pulled the door open, Alle’s jaw dropped. Those stables down at Gaius’s seaside villa were squalid and cramp compared to this soaring structure. The high vaulted ceiling rose two stories above their heads, and each of the ten stalls was a magnificent brick room with hand-carved, ornate wooden doors. Alle guessed those were the names of the horses displayed in large bronze letters attached to piers beside each stall. In the closest compartment, a magnificent golden steed with an ivory mane whose name read XANTHVS lifted its head and studied them suspiciously as they crossed the threshold and passed through an equipment storage area. Every step they took reverberated off the deep red brick walls.

When they walked farther down the main aisle dividing the rows of large stalls, two young men pitching hay into a marble feed bin glanced over their shoulders and dropped to their knees. With his clean-shaven face and closely cropped hair, Allerix barely recognized Gorgas until Gorgas lifted his chin. His face was less gaunt; he’d put on some weight.

“We’re household servants, lads,” Simon announced with a twinge of pride. “You don’t have to kneel for us.”

As the stable hands scrambled to their feet, Simon explained, “I’m called Simon and I’m Dominus’s scribe. And this is Alexandros, our master’s—”

“Slave.” Allerix interrupted. “I’m just another slave here.”

 Laughing, Simon patted Alle’s shoulder. “Alle is Dom’s concubine, Dom’s favorite bedwarmer so be mindful of what you say around him. Alexandros has our master’s ear, as well as his affection,” Simon added with a wink.

His eyes brimming with confusion, Gorgas gulped but he didn’t appear shocked by Simon’s revelation. Gorgas must have already discovered Alle’s special status in Gaius’s household. He asked Allerix in their native tongue, “ _De ce? Nu înțeleg._ ”

Alle opened his mouth, but the complicated answers to Gorgas’s simple question stuck in his throat. Why? Why was Alle playing the part of a Roman’s spoiled whore?

He and Gorgas stared at each other until Simon shattered the silence.

“Do you two know each other?”

When they both nodded, Simon seemed satisfied and turned his attention to the bronze youth Allerix didn’t recognize.

“And who are you?” Simon asked with joyful interest.

“My name is Sarapas.” The unfamiliar young man spoke in a low, seductive voice. “I’m a chariot driver, and so is this boy they call Gorgas. The master of this house purchased us to race for his faction.”

“I didn’t know Dominus had bought a pair of charioteers to drive for the Reds. Normally charioteers live close by the circus. If you’re here in Dom’s mansion, you must be special.” Simon stepped closer to the driver, flirtatiously brushing his tunic-covered shoulder against the handsome lad’s beefy bare arm. They were close in height, though the charioteer with the heavy accent was a bit taller and much broader. His sharp features were elegant but strong. Alle tried not to stare at his unusual, captivating light golden eyes. Or were they greenish? Or both?

“Where are you from, Sarapas?” Simon inquired, licking his lips.

 “I was born in Egypt, near Alexandria.”

“Egypt? I’ve always dreamed of traveling to Egypt. Were you born a free person or…”

“I was born a slave, sir.”

Simon giggled. “You’re homebred? Me too. And you shouldn’t refer to me as _sir_. Just call me Simon.” Alle could have sworn that Simon batted his lashes. “And now you’re here in Rome working in Dom’s stables?”

Sarapas smiled and returned Simon’s playful bump. “I am here, Simon. Are all the stables in Rome this magnificent? My former master never allowed me to be near the horses. He said it was unlucky for drivers and horses to know one another.”

“Idiot.”

“He understood little about horses. Do you like horses, Simon?”

Leaning close to Sarapas’ face, Simon purred like a kitten, “I fucking love to ride.”

A flush of desire reddened by embarrassment spread across Sarapas’ high, bony cheeks. Simon stepped forward and took one of Sarapas’ hands between his, stroking his fingers while enthusing over the driver’s hard calluses.

With Simon duly distracted, Allerix pulled Gorgas aside and lead him down the aisle to one of the empty stalls. “Please listen to me, Gorgas,” he urged as they huddled together in the far back corner. “I didn’t have a choice. I still don’t have a choice. I’m a slave. You understand that right?”

“You—you could kill him, Prin—”

Alle pressed a finger against Gorgas’s full lips. “You need to call me Alle, remember?”

When Gorgas nodded, Allerix stepped back. Gorgas took a deep breath and glanced around before asking, “Why haven’t you cut his throat, Alle? You’d become a hero, and Great Zolmaxis would grant you immortality. Why haven’t you already taken revenge for what he’s done to us?”

Allerix shrugged and lied. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m a coward who doesn’t deserve eternal bliss and immortal fame.”

Gorgas furrowed his brow and replied after a few moments. “You’ve never been a coward, sir. You’re the bravest lad and the most skilled swordsman I’ve ever known.”

Alle chuckled, but there was unexpected sadness coloring his laugh. “There weren’t many lads in my father’s tiny kingdom, Gorgas. I’m no one special. We should go back—before Simon wonders if I’ve run off.” Allerix reached out and squeezed Gorgas’s shoulder. “I did try to escape. Once. I held a blade to Simon’s throat and threatened to take him with me as a prisoner to ensure safe passage home.”

Gorgas brown eyes widened as his voice dropped to hush. “You ran away? You took a hostage? What… what happened?”

“I was caught, flogged, and collared like a fucking dog,” Alle stated plainly before pointing. “Let’s go.”

They found Simon and the Egyptian driver in the same spot they’d left them, still sharing flirtatious banter. Their amusing courtship of questions and compliments ended abruptly when the sound of several heavy boots trampling across the floor rumbled from the other end of the stables. Simon quickly backpedaled away from Sarapas and knelt as he mumbled soberly, “Dominus is here.”

Together, Alle and the other two lowered themselves to their knees and dropped their chins. The marching of hobnail boots across brick grew louder and louder until he emerged from the shadows, dressed in a short belted tunic with a crimson riding cloak pinned at his shoulder, his feet shod in tall leather traveling boots. Stomping its front hoof, the golden horse, Xanthus, whinnied with excitement. Behind Gaius stood three stern-faced armed guards.

Allerix glanced up through his thick eyelashes. One of the brooding sentries looked familiar.

Shit.

It was Felix, the blacksmith who worked down at Gaius’s seaside villa. The cruel bastard who’d fixed that slave collar around Alle’s neck and demonstrated how to best kill a horse. How to best kill Ferox. What was Felix doing here in Rome?

“Greetings, lads! Are we lounging in the stables now?” Gaius hollered with both hands perched on his hips. “Simon, shouldn’t you be with your tutor?”

“Yes, Dominus.” Simon stood and pulled Alle by the arm. “Hurry, or we’ll be late.”

“Alexandros stays here with me, Simon. He has a different lesson to learn today.”

Alle jerked his arm out of Simon’s frantic grasp and gazed up at Gaius. “Sir?”

Ignoring Alle’s inquiry, Gaius motioned with his finger. “Stand up, Alle. Simon, trot off to your mathematics lessons. And you two may wash the horseshit off your hands before the mid-day meal. Leave!”

As Simon dashed back out the door that he and Allerix had come in through, Gorgas and Sarapas jumped to their feet and jogged to the far end of the stables. Confusion marring his young face, Gorgas briefly looked back at Allerix and nodded a sympathetic farewell before he disappeared.

Gaius strolled over to the blond horse and affectionately caressed its eager muzzle. “Greetings, my darling Xanthus. Are you ready to enjoy some fresh air?”

“May I ask a question, Dominus?” Allerix mumbled, keeping one eye on the ruddy-faced blacksmith, Felix.

“If you’re wondering about today’s adventure, we’re riding out to my grandmother’s estate on the Via Tiburtina. I’d assured her that I would check her property and monitor her staff while she attends to my wife in the Alban Hills. I need to be sure thieves haven’t plundered her silver. Does that answer your question, Alle?”

“Yes, sir. But you’d mentioned lessons.”

“Be patient, Alexandros. Felix!”

Felix stepped forward and bowed. “Commander Fabius.”

“Fetch my surprise, will you?”

“Yes, Commander.” As Felix lumbered out of the stables into the sunshine, Gaius walked over to Allerix and crossed his arms. “At the Praetorians’ camps I’d promised you wouldn’t ride our stubborn mule, Pertinax, the next time we left on a journey.”

Alle ducked his head and smiled at the memory. “You’d said you would provide me with a proper horse.”

When Alle lifted his chin, he found Gaius’s broad, dimpled grin lighting up the space around them. “But not just any horse will do.”

“Sir?”

“I have a gift for you, Alle.”

Felix marched back into the stables with the ends of two leather reins wrapped around his right hand. The black stallion followed close behind, his eyes growing wide and his nostrils flaring as Felix led the horse closer to Allerix and Gaius.

“By the gods!” Allerix exclaimed and then whispered, “Ferox.”

“He’s undergone months of rigorous training. According to Felix’s reports, our savage beast has adopted a more docile temperament. Would you care to ride Ferox out to Avia’s villa?”

“Yes! Very much, sir.” Allerix carefully approached Ferox and slowly extended his hand until the horse lowered its head and nuzzled Alle’s palm with its nose.

“He remembers you,” Gaius mused tenderly.

“Do you think so?” Alle lightly brushed the horse’s muzzle. “I wasn’t sure if you were alive, my Thracian friend.”

Gaius strode over and patted Ferox’s muscular neck. “He’s one fortunate pony. Alive and broken and still an intact stallion. I resisted the temptation to geld him after I’d heard he’d been rehabilitated.”

“You’re _very_ lucky, Ferox,” Allerix mumbled into the horse’s ear.

Despite the fact that the Thracian horse had panicked and run over Nicomedes, Gaius hadn’t blamed the animal. He hadn’t blamed anyone for poor Nic’s accidental death. Allerix pushed aside the thick strands of Ferox’s ebony forelock and rubbed the swirl of fur between the stallion’s eyes. Tears welled up as Alle glanced at Gaius and mumbled in a shaky but sincere voice, “Thank you, Dominus.”

 

~~~

 

**_The Via Tiburtina, Rome_ **

 

They’d ridden a good distance on the wide road heading northeast from Gaius’s mansion when Alle noticed the long leather bag attached to Gaius’s saddle bounce back and forth as their mounts—one glittering like gold, the other black as coal— comfortably trotted side by side down the basalt pavers.

“May I ask what you have in that large satchel, Dominus?”

“No.” When Gaius slowed his horse to a fast walk, Alle pulled back on the reins to keep Ferox astride with Xanthus. “My grandmother’s estate is two miles from here down the Tiburtina. But first we have to pass _that_.” Gaius tipped his chin towards a huge, round structure up ahead on the right. When they arrived at the building, Gaius stopped his horse and dismounted.

“The Mausoleum of the Petronii. The ashes of my dear associate, Counselor Petronius, are interred in this tomb. Only a few handfuls of charred bits sealed in a funerary urn are all that’s left of him.”

Gaius approached the tomb’s door and rested his palm against a bronze panel. “Greetings, my old friend. I’m afraid I bring neither wine nor new information about the criminals who murdered you. But we’re still searching for evidence. As you’d always claimed, Bryaxis is a sharp and loyal assistant. You’d be proud of him. I promise you—your killers will be fucking punished, Lucius.”

Allerix debated whether he should slide down and join Gaius but then thought better of disrupting his private prayers at the grave of his dead lover. After Gaius mumbled a few more hushed words, he returned and tapped the ground in front of Xanthus’ left leg with the toe of his riding boot. Xanthus bobbed his head once and lowered his front quarters, bending his legs to bow down low to the ground. Once Gaius had straddled the obedient, prostrate horse, he clicked his tongue three times and flicked the reins until Xanthus straightened his legs, lifting Gaius securely seated in his four-horned saddle.

“That’s marvelous! Did you teach him how to do that?”

“No, I’m not a talented horse trainer. I purchased him from a Spanish breeder who’d already schooled him for war. Xanthus may be a pretty golden boy but he’s also a sturdy, brave horse trained to accommodate a rider wearing full armor. I don’t have slaves running alongside me in battle to serve as footstools should I be knocked off my horse.”

Alle cheekily replied, “You’re not wearing heavy armor today, sir. You could have pulled yourself up onto his back.”

Gaius pursed his lips in mock hurt. “I was hoping to impress you, Allerix.”

“I am impressed, sir.” Alle chuckled and asked, “Do you visit this tomb often?”

“Not as often as I should. I’m not the most pious friend a man could have. Let’s depart before Luc’s spirit rebukes me for my negligence.” Gaius turned in his saddle and shouted to the round tomb, “Farewell, Lucius Petronius. Rest peacefully. Vengeance is near.”

Allerix closed his eyes and silently repeated Gaius’s last sentence to himself. Soon this charade would end, and Gaius would be crowned Rome’s new king.

Two miles down the road—past more tombs, leafless rose bushes, and cypress trees—they finally arrived at a tall iron gate attached to stone piers on either side of an opening in a shoulder-high wall. The gate blocked access to a dirt road that wound off through a cluster of manicured evergreens and up a gentle slope. When Gaius called the guard to attention, the poor chap huddled in a blanket asleep at his post startled and jumped to his feet.

“Commander Fabius, sir! My apologies. We so rarely have visitors these days, and with our Domina not currently in residence…”

“Enough!” Gaius raised his hand to silence him. “I’m here to inspect Memmia Cornelia’s estate. Open the gate.”

After a short ride up the dirt road, they came upon an open, gravel-covered yard in front of the largest building on the property. A tall, skinny slave rushed over to collect their horses. Gaius dismounted and unbuckled the straps of the large leather bag attached to his saddle. Allerix followed suit and dropped to the ground.

“I’ll survey the main residence after we finish our lessons. Follow me, Alexandros,” Gaius proclaimed, marching with his mysterious satchel slung over his shoulder towards an arched opening in a high wall. Through the curved portal, Allerix spied carefully arranged rows of shrubs and fountains and statues on pedestals. Jogging after Gaius, Alle passed under the arch and paused to catch his breath. The gardens were enormous, spreading as far as the eye could see. Statues—bronze and marble—surrounded the edges of shimmering pools. Squawking peacocks and white geese wandered through the sculpted greenery. When Gaius reached a wide path running straight down the center of the plantings, he stopped and gestured for Allerix to join him.

“Do you see the dark shadow in the wall down there?”

Panting, Alle replied, “Yes… Dominus.”

 “The center of that empty niche is the target.”

Gaius unpinned his riding cloak and tossed it, along with his canteen of fresh water, to Alle before reaching into the purse attached to his belt. He pulled out a cord of leather and let it dangle from his fingers. “Do you recognize my old sling from the villa? She’s in excellent condition, tightly braided and supple. I’m going to show you how to hurl a missile, Alle. And with enough practice, one day you might even hit something.”

Giddy from the prospect of learning the sling, Ale inhaled a gulp of water before placing the metal container on the ground. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand to stifle a laugh. “Your sling weapon is a girl?”

“In my hands, she’s a fucking lethal goddess.”

Gaius bent down and selected one of the small rocks at the base of a pruned boxwood bush. He tossed the rock above his head, watching how it moved before catching it in midair. “Little does my grandmother realize, but her posh gardens are filled with perfectly shaped sling bullets. Step back.”

After sliding the middle finger of his right hand through the loop at one end of the cord, Gaius gripped the knotted end of the sling with the same hand and placed the garden rock in the sling’s leather pouch. After three swirling gyrations, he stepped forward and released the loose cord; the leather strap whipped around his torso, snapping the air with a crack, as the rock missile hurled down the path, striking the wall next to the niche. Chips of shattered stucco flew everywhere.

Gaius shielded his eyes and exhaled. “Not terrible, considering that was the first shot I’ve thrown in a while. And I managed not to hit any of Avia’s coddled feathered friends. Killing one of her birds is bad luck, you know.”

“I’ll try to be careful, sir. Will you teach me how to throw like that?”

“Yes, but you must teach me something in return.” Gaius pointed to the large satchel he’d deposited on the side of the path. “I want to learn how to wield a falx properly. I’ve swung its curved blade a few times, but never with any skill.”

“Is that the Dacian falx from your villa?”

“A skilled forgery, but the only falx I possess. And Felix crafted an admirable duplicate—not a work of art, but it’ll suffice. Do we have bargain, Alle? Sling lessons for falx lessons?”

“Absolutely, Dominus.”

“Let’s start with the sling, shall we? I’ll slow down my movements and explain what I’m doing and why. Watch and listen carefully.”

At a leisurely pace, Gaius patiently demonstrated his favorite slinging techniques. And he pointed out which sizes and shapes of rocks worked best for missiles. Once Allerix understood the basics, Gaius loaded the sling and swung hard and fast. His first shot missed the target, hitting the wall below the niche, but the second two throws were perfect. Sharp clanging noises echoed through the garden when the stone missiles hit the center of the niche.

“Ah, that's much better! When I was younger, I carried this sling with me everywhere. You never know when you’ll need to knock off a marble pecker or kill a rabbit for dinner. Here, let’s have you try.”

With reverence, Allerix cradled the warm leather braid in his palms, gazing in awe at the unfamiliar weapon. Gaius cradled Alle’s face and kissed him on the mouth. After a lingering, passionate kiss, Gaius pulled back and teased, “That sling doesn’t do a damn thing on its own, you know.”

“Commander Fabius!” a slave shouted as he ran towards them from the main house. He skidded to a stop, caught his breath, and babbled, “Legate Aelius Hadrianus is here. He’s requested to speak with you.”

“The Greekling is here? How peculiar. Escort him to the gardens. And bring some wine.”

As soon as the slave climbed the first step of the stairs leading to the back door, Gaius turned to Allerix and brushed his knuckles over Alle’s cheek. “Take the sling and disappear into the shadows beneath that portico. We’ll resume our lessons once I’ve dealt with this unfortunate intrusion. Stay out of sight until I call you.”

“Yes, Dominus.”

Allerix jogged and then sprinted to the nearby covered portico. He couldn’t see what was happening the gardens, but he could hear every sound. Soon curiosity overtook caution as he carefully leaned forward and peered around a column’s shaft.

A few moments later, an unfamiliar man with curly light brown hair and a thick beard casually strolled down the steps, followed by a slave carrying a wine jug and two fancy cups.  The fellow who looked to be close to Gaius’s age pulled Gaius into an embrace and pecked him on the lips.

“Greetings, brother.”

“Greetings to you as well, Publius. What purpose brings you all the way to my grandmother’s estate?”

“I’ve been sent on a mission to find you. I searched your home on the Caelian but you weren’t there. Your steward informed me that you’d ridden out to the suburbs to visit Memmia Cornelia’s villa.” Publius paused and accepted a cup of wine. “I deliver a message straight from Emperor’s Trajan desk.” The bearded man pulled out a sealed scroll and handed it to Gaius. “Our dear Father wanted to be sure you received his invitation, Gaius. He ordered me to deliver this note to you personally. For some strange reason, he was afraid it might fly out of a courier’s hands. And then Father grumbled something about the Tiber.”

With an annoyed grunt, Gaius unrolled the papyrus. “A dinner party at the palace? Only men have been invited, I notice. Won’t our delightful Empress join us for the bash?”

“She’s leaving the city in the morning for a short holiday.”

“There’s no date indicated on this invitation, Publius. When exactly will this all-cocks debauchery take place?” Gaius queried with a sharp bite to his tone.

“Tomorrow evening, my dear Gaius. Our noble Marcus also instructed me to remind you to bring your Dacian songbird. He promises a memorable and most entertaining feast.”

The shock was worse than brutal punch in the stomach.

Shaking, Alle gripped the leather sling tight and pressed his back against the portico wall. The gods had finally decided.

Allerix, the only surviving son of King Thiamarkos, would die tomorrow.

 ~~~~~


End file.
